The Soldier
by DEMachina
Summary: Alex Wilson had hoped that she would never have to make a choice between her best friend Regulus Black and her bloodtraitor mother who can't stand him. Fate has other plans for her, however, as the mystery of her father's identity continues to haunt her life... neither family history nor the raging war outside are on her side as innocent soldiers learn to bleed. AU.
1. Book I: Chapter 1

Now the legend of the Four Points and _Conservato_ would be safely classified as extinct, as it was decided by Bertie Babblesheath that the pursuit of this mythical organization would lead only to a tremendous waste of time and odd consequences. The most recent scholar of this legend was oddly enough Gallert Grindelwald, who was fanatic in his search for the lost society of the Darkhiders. Attempting to exterminate all forces that could oppose him, he followed a trail that he believed would lead him directly to the center of _Conservato_ ; however, his explorations came to a dead end, as could only come from chasing after an invisible thestral…

Bathilda Bagshot, _Legends and Myths of the Magical World_ , Volume XVII.

* * *

It all began one summer morning, as it invariably does, with a morning post.

Alex Wilson jumped from the breakfast table, her half-eaten toast and eggs already forgotten.

"I shall get that, shouldn't I, Mom?" she said, but she was already running out the kitchen, not waiting for an answer.

It is difficult to pinpoint the exact time that Alex Wilson began to look forward to the mail. She was eleven, almost twelve but not quite, tall for her age, with a strong build and dark eyes that always seemed to challenge whatever was in front of her. She was soon to attend a public secondary school in the area, something she was not particularly looking forward to. The mail would contain nothing new, she knew, some old advertisements, but perhaps there would be something different this time…

The outside was cloudy, an odd mixture of the hidden sun and humidity. Alex closed her eyes and breathed in the summer air, feeling at home. It was the air she knew well, the atmosphere of the town she had lived all her life. She opened her eyes. There was the tabby cat again on the other side of the road beneath the tree shade, quietly watching the house. The cat had been spending most of its days in that spot for the last few days although Alex had heard no news that the Prices had acquired a new pet. Once, upon the first time she had seen it, she had attempted to draw closer to it and pat its head, but the expression it had on its face was so dismissive, so lofty, as though it was daring her to touch her, that Alex had to withdraw her hand hastily. Today she settled for giving it a wave and ran to the mailbox, throwing the flap open.

She bent sideways to peer into the mailbox.

Inside lay a single envelope.

Alex reached into the mailbox, wondering at the thickness and the sheer size of the envelope. It was made of parchment, which seemed like unusual luxury, and her address was written, it seemed, with actual ink and fountain pen. But it was not the envelope, the red seal with a large H, or a strange, antique-looking crest with four creatures that caught her eye; it was the name of the recipient: Atria Polaris Wymond.

"What is it, darling?" the voice of her mother coming from the window pulled her out of her confusion.

"Is there an Atria in our neighborhood, Mom?" Alex asked, walking toward the house.

" _What_?"

"I asked, is there an Atria in our neighborho—" she had reached the kitchen, but was caught off mid-sentence when the envelope was snatched away from her.

"Where did you get this?" Sophia Wilson asked, her voice strangled. Alex looked at her mother in surprise. Sophie Wilson, in her memory, had never lost her calm expression, nor her equanimity.

"It was in the mailbox, but I noticed that it was addressed to someone else—"

"You didn't open the letter, did you?" her mother asked quickly. Alex frowned.

"'Course not, it's not mine." By now her mind was turning; what could be in the letter that could upset her mother? In fact what would her mother know about a letter that was addressed to a complete stranger? Yet the name Atria Wymond somehow sounded familiar…

"Mom, what's in the letter?"

The room seemed to still for a moment, the temperature in the room drop down a few degrees despite the summer heat. Alex watched as her mother's face paled slightly before she casually pocketed the letter.

"Nothing, darling," her mother said, smiling, but there was tension in her eyes.

"Why are you keeping it? It was meant for someone else."

"I said it was nothing!" The abrupt shrillness in her tone made Alex draw back, and she stared at her mother in shock, wide-eyed. Sophia seemed to notice this, but she did not offer any explanations, instead saying,

"Now eat your eggs while they're still fresh. I need to— I need to go to the post office and report a misdelivery." Her mother grabbed the jacket on the coat hanger by the door. "I won't be long—just put the dishes in the sink after you're done, won't you?" Sophia swiftly kissed her daughter on the cheek and patted her hair before going out. Alex heard the door shut, and slowly sat on the breakfast table, surrounded by silence. Outside the window she saw the cat staring straight ahead, and for a moment she imagined that the cat had heard everything.

* * *

The morning was progressing into noon, but her mother had yet to come back. Alex, having washed the dishes and cleaned the entire house, went outside and sat on the doorsteps, staring at the sky. The sky was now almost gray, the opaque yellowness of the sun already fading into cool, cloudy thickness. She sighed, not knowing why.

"It's going to rain soon," she muttered to no one in particular. Perhaps she ought to run to the post office with an umbrella for her mother. But as she had been gone for more than two hours, Alex doubted that her mother was still at the post office, and running around town trying to find her mother seemed like a pointless endeavor. She also had a feeling that her mother, wherever she was, was not going to be in the best of moods to see her right now.

"It's going to rain soon," she raised her voice so the cat could hear. The cat blinked.

"Not that it matters, of course," Alex continued, "but the trees are not the best protection against the rain, you know?" As though the sky had heard her words, a fat drop of raindrop fell on her toes, than another, and then another. Alex retracted her legs and curled up into a ball.

"You're welcome to sit with me, if you'd like," she offered. "It's drier under a roof."

To her surprise, the cat quickly darted across the street to the front of her house. It shook the rain off its body, as though it didn't wish to bring any water into the house, and promptly jumped up the doorsteps onto the porch, sitting in its lofty way. Alex looked at the cat more closely, and noticed an odd pattern, like a rectangle, around its eyes.

"Look at that," she breathed. "It's like you're wearing glasses."

The cat blinked again, this time perhaps a bit more warmly.

"You don't suppose Mom would want an umbrella, do you? She said that she was going to the post office, but I don't think that's where she is," Alex asked, and the cat stared back at her as if it, too, was considering the question.

"No, I don't think I'll go out—Mom freaks out whenever I step outside the door without her knowing about it, anyhow." Alex picked up a twig at the edge of a doorstep and twirled it between her fingers. "She thinks that I'll get abducted, or something—that's not very likely, though, don't you think?" She kept twirling the twig. "I think she wants to keep me out of trouble. People think I'm always up to something fishy—I'm not, not really. It's not my fault that things happen whenever I'm around. Well, I did sort of wish Nancy Crawford had pink hair—she's really vain about her hair and she was talking stuff about me and my mom. But I didn't _make_ her hair pink, you know. People can't do that. But look." She held up a pencil that rested between her fingers, the wet twig nowhere to be seen. "Explain that to me." The cat was now looking at the pencil, its head cocked slightly askew, as though it really was trying to find an explanation for how a twig could suddenly transform into a pencil. Then it looked back at Alex, its eyes searching.

"This isn't the first time, you know, Mom not telling me something" Alex continued, scribbling on the step. "I don't know where she's from, or where her family lives, or who her friends are." She paused. "I don't even know who my father is." The rain kept on pouring, and the only sound that she could make out was her own breathing. She glanced at the cat and quickly turned her attention to her scribbles again. The cat's stare was now almost unnerving. Most cats ran away from her before she could get close to see the patterns on their fur.

"I'm not, you know, a nutter, or anything like that, talking to strange cats" she said defensively to the ground. The cat meowed, as though it understood what she meant, and nuzzled at her knuckles a couple of times before drawing back to its lofty pose again. Alex looked at in surprise and grinned.

"Does it mean that I can touch you now?" she asked, and the cat looked at her as though she was the stupidest person on the planet. Somehow, this made her feel better and Alex chuckled quietly. They both turned their heads to the street, listening to the rain.

"Atria," she muttered. "The name feels familiar. I don't know why."

"Alex!" her mother's voice rang through the rain feebly. "What are you doing out here?" Sophia Wilson was walking slowly toward the house, a green umbrella in her hand. Alex frowned, discreetly pocketing the pencil in her jeans.

"I was waiting—well, I thought you didn't take an umbrella with you," Alex said, somewhat sheepish, as though she was caught in middle of a conspiratorial scheme. She automatically stood up as her mother drew closer, blocking the cat from her view. Somehow it seemed to her that her mother would not approve of the newfound acquaintance.

"Mr. Whitman was kind enough to lend it to me," Sophia Wilson answered; Alex frowned. She knew Mr. Whitman, one of the math teachers at her school. He was decent, she supposed; he always answered the students' questions and helped them with the math problems. He was quite popular among the students, girls especially, who giggled whenever his floppy brown hair and brown eyes behind the spectacles drew near, and he always treated Alex kindly, which was not always the case with her teachers. He and her mother met at school, where Sophia Wilson worked as a receptionist. As far as Alex could remember, Mr. Whitman had always been involved in her life in some way—a nod at a dinner party, a weak joke in the grocery line, something. He wished for more, and even though her mother denied this when Alex pointed this out, she knew. She also knew that she did not give a whit about Mr. Whitman.

"What a coincidence, Mom, that he just _happened_ to be there at the post office," Alex said loudly, trying nudge the cat with her foot to tell it to go away. For some reason, however, it wouldn't budge.

"Well, I didn't see him at the post office. I thought I would stop by the nearby store and pick up some milk—" Sophia stopped mid-sentence. Alex looked around, trying to find something to divert her attention.

"Let me get that for you—" she said, reaching out for the milk cartoon, but her mother remained unresponsive.

"What is that?" she asked quietly, looking at Alex's feet.

"What's what?" Alex said.

"The cat," Sophia said. "Where's she from?

"I don't know," Alex said, crouching to scoop the cat into her arms. The cat, predictably enough, resisted by baring its teeth and Alex gave up on the endeavor. The ploy to endear the cat to her mother was defeated before it even began, it seemed. "It was in the Prices' yard, under the tree," she pointed at the tree with her finger. "I don't think it's theirs. Maybe it's a stray," she added hopefully, although Alex could surmise from their interaction that the cat was not homeless. No stray cat would ever sit so loftily, dismissively turn its head at everything without prowling for food. "Couldn't we—"

"No," the answer came before she could finish the sentence.

"But—"

"The owner's probably looking for it as we speak, Alex," her mother's tone was softer, almost pleading, as though she could not bear to have this argument any further. Alex looked at her mother, puzzled and slightly guilty. "Let's leave her to go back to her place."

Defeated, Alex dragged her feet to the door, stepping inside and holding the door for her mother. She quickly stepped inside, barely taking the time to shake the water off the umbrella, but Alex thought, for a moment, that she caught her mother exchanging a glance with the cat.

* * *

The rainy day passed quickly as rainy days do, softly, without a bang, slipping away unnoticed. The entire house rang quietly with the sound of the drizzle after Sophia Wilson left for her shift at a local restaurant—one of her summer jobs. Alex dutifully stayed inside, knowing that her mother would not approve of it if she attempted to play with the cat again. She set about the house, vacuuming the living room, washing the dishes, and organizing the few books there were. It was a one-storied house with a small attic, which was Alex's bedroom, with a bathroom, living room that led into the kitchen, and her mother's bedroom which also functioned as her study. The house was on the edge of the town they lived in, a small, quiet town where few accidents happened far and between, and change, if it occurred, was so slow to take hold that no inhabitant was aware of it. It was a small town, and everyone knew one another, more or less—and everyone knew of Sophia Wilson and her odd daughter without a father.

As long as the town—and Alex—could remember, Alex Wilson was without a father. The town reluctantly accepted Sophia Wilson as a part of the local primary school, and recognized her hard efforts to raise a child by herself, often taking on multiple jobs at the same time. And she was a pretty woman, barely over thirty, whose wavy honey-brown hair was still shiny and her smile still warm. Her diligence and attractiveness would have guaranteed people's acceptance of her, had it not been for the daughter.

Alex was—different. At least, that was what Mrs. Abbott, after much consideration, could say about her student in a delicate parent-teacher meeting to Sophia. It was not that she was particularly peculiar: she was a quick learner; she did not cause any troubles in class; she ate what other students ate, and said what other students said. _It was not,_ Mrs. Abbots hastily explained, _that there was anything wrong with Alex_. _But other children were simply unused to students like her, and they didn't know what to do with her_. The implications were simple enough: she was a disreputable child, and the parents did not want their children associating themselves with her. And still there were rumors of accidents, hairs turning pink, odd happenings. Of course, they were all ridiculous—the tallest tree in the playground must have been that tall as long as people could remember—but nonetheless, they were enough to convince people to steer clear of the Wilsons unless they had to talk with them.

The said odd girl was looking out her bedroom window, her body pressed against the windowpane as her breaths created patches of fog in her field of vision. Only a month, she knew. A month would quickly pass, and she would be in secondary school. She would graduate, she supposed, and go to a university, if she was lucky and tried hard. Would she get out of this town, she wondered, and leave her mother behind, or would she, through some circumstance and happenings, be induced to stay?—such fate did not seem so terrible, yet her heart squeezed queerly, as though it could not bare the thought spending the rest of her life where she was. But it was what people did, wasn't it, to settle down and live out their lives without a trouble? But her life in this town would be lonely indeed. Perhaps a stranger would come—her lips curled into a rather sarcastic smile—a handsome stranger, indeed, who had no knowledge of her family or background, would whisk her away. But even eleven-year-old girls know that such strangers rarely do come into their lives.

A knock came from downstairs.

Alex jumped from her seat. She had been thinking, but she had not been inattentive—she had been looking out the window the whole time, watching occasional cars carefully go by in the rain, the raindrops growing fatter and fatter on tree leaves before they grew heavy enough to fall. A visitor coming to her house could not have escaped her notice.

The knock came again, sharp, impatient, demanding. Alex turned to the staircase leading downstairs. A strange sense of dread filled her, even though she knew there was nothing that could harm her. Her mother was in the house—she would get the door. As she heard vague murmurs of conversation beginning, she looked at the clock on the wall. It was eight in the evening. It could not be the mailman, and it could not be one of the neighbors—they rarely bothered her nor her mother, preferring to solve their problems amongst themselves.

She crept downstairs, wondering who it was. The small voices that she heard were growing louder and louder as she approached the living room. It was the voice of her mother—

"I have repeatedly sent letters to Professor Dumbledore—"

"Professor Dumbledore," a curt voice cut her off. A woman's voice. Alex stuck her head out to see who it was, trying to conceal her body in the hallway. In the livingroom stood a tall, thin woman perhaps a few years above her mother. Her dark hair was tightly pulled back into a bun, and a pair of angular glasses rested on a sharp nose. The eyes behind the glasses were sharp the way her knocks had been. And this otherwise seemingly intelligent and sensible woman was wearing an emerald _cloak_.

Alex frowned, trying to conjure up images of women and girls she had seen on the street. Had cloaks come in style recently? Not that she was aware of; unless, of course, this woman was from a foreign country. Perhaps people in big cities dressed themselves in cloaks. It would not be altogether surprising.

"Professor Dumbledore," the woman in emerald cloak was saying, "has received every one of your letters. Nonetheless, he believes that Alexandra would get the proper education she needs at Hogwa—"

"With all due respect, Professor Dumbledore does not have the authority to make that decision," Sophia said, crossing her arms in front of her.

"It is quite apparent, Sophia, that you are also unfit to make that decision at the moment," the woman retorted. "That girl has clearly shown signs of being magical, and it will only grow more noticeable as she grows up. Even now she seems to have some knowledge of her abilities—"

"That I will think about later," Sophia said cooly. "It is not your business, Minerva, how I choose to raise my child."

"You are not safe here. _She_ is not safe here. None of us are anymore. And if you chose to open your eyes, you would see that."

" _He_ would hardly bother with such a small, insignificant Muggle town—"

"You think he does not have contacts in the Ministry? They are monitoring magical activity in the entire country. _You_ may escape their radar, but she would not. She can't. She can't control herself."

Silence followed. Alex could see that her mother was upset, but it also seemed like a bad idea to go up to her to comfort her. They were talking about her, her mother and the woman, or so it seemed, although not much of the woman's words made sense. _Magical_. What did that even mean? _Her abilities_?

"I would like you to leave," Sophia finally said quietly.

"I would, but I suspect that your daughter has some questions," the woman said, equally cooly. Alex's eyes widened as her mother turned around to find her daughter hiding behind the doorway. Alex quickly glanced at the woman—how did she even know?

The woman chuckled drily. "I have a very good hearing. Something that one learns to cultivate as a teacher."

Meanwhile, several expressions crossed Sophia's face, something akin to fear, anger, and resignation. Alex looked imploringly at her mother—she didn't want her mother to be mad at her.

"I didn't mean to," she said. "But you were talking about me. Talking odd things." Her mother didn't respond to this, so she crossed the livingroom to her side and led her to the sofa. Sophia sat down wordlessly. The woman followed, sitting on a chair near them. "Who are you?" Alex asked her.

"Minverva McGonagall," the woman replied. "I am… a friend of your mother. We used to go to school together." Alex looked at her mother, who neither denied nor confirmed this.

"Oh," Alex said. Some moments of awkwardness ensued. "And what are you?"

"That, Miss Wilson, would take a longer time to answer," McGonagall said stiffly, and Alex was confused for a moment by 'Miss Wilson.' Normally it was her mother people would call Miss Wilson. "For now I am a teacher at the same school we both studied at. Its name is Hogwarts, and it is where young witches and wizards such as yourself go to learn how to use their magic."

"Oh," Alex said, trying to sound like she understood what McGonagall was saying, but felt like she was in a particularly challenging math class, nodding along with everyone else but secretly wondering what was written on the board.

Apparently McGonagall could sense this. Alex remembered that she was a teacher. "You are a witch, Miss Wilson," she said calmly, as if this was no news to her. "As is your mother, and as I am, you have magical abilities. Do you think anyone has the ability to turn a twig into a pencil?"

"But how do you know that I—" Alex started, looking up at McGonagall, at her glasses, and paused.

"Oh."

"Yes, it was me that morning."

"But how is that even possi—"

"That's enough," Alex jumped as her mother suddenly spoke up from beside her. Sophia Wilson's face was now blotchy, as if the anger she was holding back physically made her red. "I have told you, Alex will not go to Hogwarts. She will not join the magical community."

"But why not?" Alex asked, looking at her mother uncomprehending. It was odd to see her mother and think that she was magical. Sophia Wilson was, in Alex's mind, her mother, a quiet school secretary at the reception desk, a young woman who did much to take care of both of them. The idea of her mother—or herself, really—being magical seemed ludicrous. Far-fetched. Impossible.

"It's not safe for you out there," Sophia said firmly. "These are dark times, and there are people who will want to harm you."

"Why? I haven't done anything?" To this Sophia did not answer, instead grimly looking down at her. Alex turned to McGonagall, who was looking at her with what almost seemed like pity.

"In any case, it would behoove her to learn how to protect herself, if nothing else," McGongall said to Sophia.

Sophia's response was almost inaudible. "I know," she said.

"The measures you have taken so far may be effective for a couple more years, perhaps, but sooner or later—"

"I am aware."

"So do you agree? To send her to Hogwarts?" Alex turned to look at her mother. Sophia Wilson's face was as pale as the December snow. Their eyes met.

"Yes," Sophia said quietly.

"It's settled, then. I will inform Professor Dumbledore at once." McGonagall's voice was brisk and Alex's eyes followed her as she turned to leave.

"I will send you another letter of acceptance from Hogwarts. After all, you will need one after having incinerated every single one you received, won't you?" Sophia did not answer, and McGonagall turned to leave.

"Will you promise me," Sophia Wilson suddenly said, without turning her head to see McGonagall's back, "that you will take care of her?" McGongall turned around.

"As a professor, I cannot—"

"I ask you as a friend." Moments followed.

Finally, McGongall replied, softly, "I will."

"Well then," Sophia replied, almost tonelessly. "Good night. Give Professor Dumbledore my best regards." It seemed for a moment that McGonagall had something more to say, but she closed her mouth and left without another word. Alex realized that she had been sitting on the sofa next to her mother during the entire exchange in the same position.

"So," she began timidly. "I won't be here in the fall?"

Sophia looked sadly down at her daughter. Alex looked down on her hands, feeling uncomfortable. "No, dear. You won't."

"Oh." Quiet silence.

"Are you really a witch, mom?" the question burst out of her like a firework. "Am I really a w—" Her words were cut off as Sophia suddenly drew her close to her, holding her tightly like a five-year old. It took a few moments for Alex to realize that the wetness she felt against her cheeks were her mother's tears. Alex patted her awkwardly on her back, befuddled yet guilty. But the moment, filled with the distant sound of the rain, the electric lights above them and her mother's warmth infused with her faint perfume, felt different from other passing scenes in her life.

"You'll be okay," she heard her mother's muffled words. "You'll be okay."


	2. Chapter 2

One unrecognizable day passed another as the wind grew cooler, the trees less vibrant and, it seemed, the sky a little darker. But the sky was shining blue one cool morning when Alex and her mother set out for London.

They had not talked much about McGonagall's visit—in fact, they had not talked much, period. The usual routine compensated for the vacuum born out of the new knowledge; Alex took care of the household, holding down the fort while her mother went out to work. When they were together, they talked about normal things: the Price's new dog and its penchant for peeing in their yard; some funny customer at the restaurant; yet another run-in with Mr. Whitman; a book Alex found in the public library. But the biggest thing that was on their minds—on Alex's mind, at least—they never discussed.

But the day was so bright on their way to London, with the windows rolled down and the wind running through her hair, that Alex thought that almost anything was possible. They were going to London—to get school supplies, Alex assumed, although her mother did not say much about the letter they received a day after McGonagall's visit. She was instructed to board a train on September 1st—a day from now. Surely, their trip to London could mean only one thing.

Alex looked at the rear-view mirror, at the retreating view of the town she knew all her life. She could make out the tower of the post office, now the same size as her pinky nail. The clock in the tower struck at the exact hour, always, and the sound sometimes even reached their house. General supplies store where she sometimes bought Vaseline for dry skin was next to the post office, along with the restaurant her mother worked in. And across the restaurant was the local pub, where men's laughter could be heard into the midnight…

She would come back, though, wouldn't she? Wouldn't Hogwarts allow their students to go home during holidays? Yes, she will see her mother again in December, and sleep in her bed again before the year was over.

The tower was now the size of a dot on a page. Alex thought that she could make out the glimmer of gold painted rod on top of the tower, but perhaps she was just imagining. She held her hand out the window in silent salute.

"It will be a while before we reach London," her mother said eventually. Alex was toying with a Mars Bars in her hand, pulling at the edges of the wrappers. Somehow the excitement of leaving vanished once the view of her hometown disappeared from her eyes.

"Hmm," Alex said.

"I should probably tell you about where we're going," her mother tried again.

"London, right?"

"Yes. More specifically, we're going to Leaky Cauldron." Alex screwed up the edge of her nose.

"A funny name."

"Yes, it is a funny name," her mother said easily. Silence followed.

The rest of the ride to London followed the same path, the silence broken intermittently by a few remarks along the way and at once by a wayside restaurant, where Alex ordered a hamburger along with her mother. The Mars Bars in her hand remained unopened. Gradually the scenery changed. Gone were the greenery that she was used to, the terrain undisturbed by human presence. Buildings grew larger and closer together, more people were on the streets, roaming. Her mother found a public parking space, and it took Alex a few seconds to realize that not once in the entire trip had her mother consulted a map or anyone about directions.

The London streets were crowded—more crowded than Alex had ever seen them. People passed by quickly, and it took Alex a few seconds to realize that people on these streets did not know each other. There was the vague awkwardness that comes with self-consciousness as Alex surreptitiously stole glances at the passers-by, wondering what they were thinking. But it was evident that these people were minding their own business, nothing much else, and soon she settled into her own rhythm, finding security in the anonymity. Her mother led the way and Alex followed, looking around curiously. She'd never been to London, after all. After a few blocks her mother stopped unceremoniously in front of a grubby pub. Alex squinted up to look for a sign and thought that she could make out an outline covered with grime of a cauldron that had faded over the years. Her mother pushed the door and went in; Alex followed, feeling her throat constrict.

It was mid afternoon and the pub was relatively empty. Alex could make out a few people sitting on the tables hunched over some documents. The people kept to themselves, and Alex couldn't hear what they were saying, for they were whispering quietly, as if they were trying to keep off eavesdroppers. All were clad in a similar fashion that McGonagall had been wearing, a cloak of some color with a hat; however, Alex noted, the professor's cloak had been of finer material.

Sophia, meanwhile, had rang the bell on the counter. Alex turned her head at the noise, startled.

"Sophia!" a man appeared from the hallway opposite of the entrance they had came through. He quickly crossed the pub, but not before refilling the almost empty tankard nearest to him by tapping his wand on it. The brown liquid slowly rose from the bottom as if the beer molecules were multiplying rapidly and Alex's eyes widened.

"How—" she began, looking at her mother and pointing at the tankard which a wizard was now carelessly holding in his beefy hands, as though this was a normal happening. But Sophia Wilson stopped her daughter with a firm hand on the shoulder.

"Tom," she said. "It's been a while."

"A while?" the man—the wizard—chuckled. "I'd say it's certainly been more than a while." Sophia Wilson smiled at this, but, Alex noted, not quite warmly as she could.

"How long has it been?" Tom continued. "Ten, eleven years? The last time I heard, you were getting married right after graduating!"

"Sounds about right," her mother answered. "I was wondering if you had a room. I know today's one of the busiest days in the year."

The man's face darkened. "Not so busy anymore. Not as it used to be, anyway." He cleared his throat. "But still, an exciting time of the year, eh? Children leaving for Hogwarts!" Then Tom seemed to notice Alex for the first time, who had subtly placed herself behind her mother—rather unsuccessfully, as Alex had always been on the taller side, and was almost head-to-head with her mother when they were standing. She shrank back further as she felt Tom's curious gaze over her face.

"Your daughter," it wasn't a question.

"Yes," Sophia answered. She did not offer any further explanation. A short pause followed.

"Well, then," Tom finally said. "Your room number's 3B. Here's the key."

"Thank you," Sophia said. "Would it be alright if I paid after I visit—"

"Gringotts, yeah," Tom said, waving his hand off at her, as if she had asked an unnecessary, stupid question. "'Course. Just remember that dinner's served from five thirty to eight."

"Gringotts?" Alex whispered as they walked away from the counter. For some reason, she did not wished to be noticed by other people in the bar.

"Wizard bank," her mother said, her voice also low. "It'll make sense once you see it."

* * *

"Alright, so let's see if I can still remember," Alex said, her head spinning. "Twenty-nine knuts make a sickle, sixteen sickles make a galleon—"

"Seventeen, dear."

"Right. Seventeen," she frowned. "And a galleon is about five pounds."

"Yes." Alex let out a breath and looked at her mother, who had been for the last two hours had been answering her questions, seemingly unfazed.

Alex, on the other hand, was running the events that has happened in her mind. The visit to Gringotts had gone smoothly as her mother exchanged the money she had into wizarding currency, although Alex had a hard time trying not to stare at the goblins after being reminded rather pointedly that staring was rude, even if they were of different species. Embarrassed, she had tried to remain calm and polite throughout their shopping, but as they went through bookstores and potion ingredient shops to get the supplies for her school (all second-hand, as they could not afford to buy all of them at a new price, although Sophia insisted that the cauldron, at least, had to be new for the best results), she found it harder and harder not to turn her head every five seconds and stare. She was certain that she had even seen a broom shop, but Sophia dragged her away before she could openly gape at the store window standing still.

Now they had deposited all the supplies at the room in Leaky Cauldron and was again back on the Diagon Alley, Alex peered at the letter containing the list of things she needed.

"Robes, got them… pets…."

"No pets."

"Right," Alex said. "Wand. It's the only thing left on the list."

Her mother nodded. "I thought as much. We're going to Ollivander's." With that they turned around, heading toward the side of the alley that they had not gone before.

"Wand?" Her own voice sounded weird as Alex repeated the word to herself. A wand. A wand of her own. This was no longer a joke—it was not a fantasy that she could wake up from. A wand, like a proper wizard. The same wand that Tom had used to fill the tankard and Madam Malkins used to take her measurements while chatting energetically with her mother, who had been in the same year at Hogwarts. The same wand that her mother used to tap the brick wall to reveal Diagon Alley.

Alex felt nervousness creep into her stomach and managed another painful swallow, clutching at her mother's shirtsleeve desperately. Sophia seemed to notice her daughter's nervousness and smiled reassuringly at her.

"It will be fine," she said. "Mr. Ollivander is… somewhat quaint, but he is very nice and does his job very well."

"I'm not worried about him," Alex said crossly.

"No," Sophia Wilson sighed. "I know you're not." With those words she opened the door of the store in front of them, catching Alex off guard. The door was shabby, and the windowpanes on the walls were so fogged up that they could barely see the inside of the store. Was this the wand shop?

"Good evening," Alex heard a voice from above as she entered. She started and looked up, but couldn't see anything except stacks and stacks of tiny boxes haphazardly placed on shelves.

"Good evening," her mother answered calmly, also looking up at the doorway, and Alex realized that there was a slight form hanging onto a very thin, worn out ladder. She gulped.

"Hello," she managed.

"Sophia Wilson," the man, presumably Mr. Ollivander, said. "It's been a while."

"Garrick," her mother answered. "I'm here to get a wand for my daughter." Alex felt her mother put a hand on her shoulder, as though unmistakably marking her as the object of focus. "She's going to Hogwarts this fall."

"Yes," the man said, dragging out the _s_. "Yes, I have been expecting your visit for some time." Slowly, he climbed down the ladder, one step at a time, taking his time.

"What's your name, Miss Wilson?" Ollivander asked, and it took Alex a few seconds to realize that he was talking to her and not her mother.

"Alex," she answered. "Alexandra Wilson."

"I meant your full name, Miss Wilson," Ollivander's eyes gazed unwaveringly at her face and Alex fought off the urge to flinch away. There was something eerie and unsettling about that man's gaze, whose eyes seemed to have seen more than what his appearance suggested of his age, and his quiet voice, demanding neither attention nor loyalty, that made her uneasy.

"Um," Alex said. "I'm afraid that I don't quite follow."

"Atria," Sophia said. "Atria Wymond. It shouldn't have been that hard to figure it out, was it?"

The thin lips pulled back in a way that could have been described as a smile, but no chuckle came from Ollivander's mouth. "So Charles did have a reason to throw a fit. I must tell you that your father and brother did not take the news well when they were told you had run off with that Slytherin boy."

"That much I could gather from the Howler I received," Sophia answered cooly.

"Yes, well. A waste of opportunity, if you ask me. But—that is not what we are here to talk about, are we? So Miss Wymond, which arm is your dominant arm?"

So followed a succession of questions that Alex answered uncertainly, her mind half-distracted by the small bit of exchange that had preceded the questioning. Her mother's brother and father. She had a grandfather and an uncle. And a father—but who was that Slytherin boy? Her last name seemed to have resonated with Ollivander as gauged from his reaction, but it meant so little to her.

Ollivander, meanwhile, seemed to have gotten somewhat cheerier. As he measured Alex's arm length and height, he said, "I still remember the first time your mother held a wand. Unicorn hair, spruce, eleven-and-a-quarter inches. Bold and whimsical. Lovely for Transfiguration. Our families had been friends for some time, and I myself graduated from Hogwarts with her father—a rather whimsical man himself, although I must say that he has seen his better days. She later worked under me as an apprentice for some weeks—during summer vacation, I think it was. My memories are rather fuzzy on such details."

"It was the summer before my sixth year," Sophia Wilson supplied drily. "You complained that the heat driving away the unicorns farther into the forest."

"I would have complained of no such thing," Ollivander said. "Unicorn hair is most reliable when the animal has not had had any contact with humans. In any case, her potential as a wandmaker soon revealed itself to be very poor, which was probably, in any case, for the better, although she would have put Gregorovich to shame." Despite his words, however, Alex thought that she could detect a fondness in his voice for someone with such a poor potential. She looked at her mother who was watching Ollivander measure her from some distance. Alex made a face and Sophia shook her head in amusement. Soon Ollivander went to the back of the shop where she could not see him and came back a short while later.

"Here you are, Miss Wymond," he said, presenting her with a wand somewhat ceremoniously. "Blackthron, dragon heartstring, twelve inches. Strong and determined. Give it a swish." Alex took the wand uncertainly with both of her hands and looked down at it. It seemed so fragile, so thin. She held it out with her right hand and gave it a swish. With a loud whoop, she skidded a couple of inches as the force knocked her backwards. In front of her, however, everything remained perfectly in order.

"Rejected, hm?" Ollivander said, looking amused. "Not quite common, but that dragon was one nasty piece of work. Try this one. Maple, unicorn hair, thirteen and a half. Nice and supple." This time she held the wand with more confidence and ended up sending loose paper on his desk swirling around the shop in messy disarray.

This search continued for some time, with Alex growing more and more certain that there was indeed something wrong with her and Ollivander growing more and more excited. Had she been less tense she might have found his childlike delight at the challenge amusing. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed rather tired and sat down on a bench near the door.

"I do not do this often," Ollivander said, almost bouncing up and down the ladder in a way that was alarming. "But it might help to go farther back into the shop. Most of the wands back there were either made by my father or my grandfather—but wands, you see, Miss Wymond, have trends. Each generation of wands pick their generation of people. But it may behoove us to try. Follow me, please."

"Mr. Ollivander?" Alex said as she followed him through a network of tiny hallways in the shop. The shop itself was bigger than it appeared from the street, but it possessed no big rooms; instead, the narrow hallways were lined with shelves densely filled with boxes.

"Yes?"

"Um," Alex hesitated. "You said you remembered every wand that you ever sold, didn't you?"

"Quite right, Miss Wymond,"

"I was wondering," Alex said slowly, watching the man count off the boxes from the left. It seemed as though he had an organizational system that he understood. To Alex they all looked the same. "I was wondering if you remember my father."

Ollivander stopped counting and slowly turned his head to look at the elven-year-old.

"Well, from what you said, it sounded like you knew him, and…"

"Yes," Ollivander said slowly. "Altair Wymond. Hawthorn, phoenix feather, twelve and a quarter inches. Solid and adaptable, wonderful for any magic the wandbearer chooses. Quite an excellent wand, if I may say so myself. The family, I seem to remember, had some reservations about using a wand with phoenix feather. Or made by an English wandmaker." Ollivander sniffed; it was obvious that the episode still miffed him. "Those from east of Germany have, I'm afraid, a peculiar notion of what wands should and should not do."

"Oh," Alex said, uncertain if she was disappointed at the factual knowledge she just received or not.

"A bright boy, I remember," Ollivander went on. "Quite bright. I do not place a hawthorn wand in anyone's hand, Miss Wymond. Few possess the power to master it." Alex remained quiet, wondering if Ollivander was going to say any more, but he did not.

"Here we are," he said at last. "Pine, dragon heartstring, ten-and-a-half inches." Alex gingerly took the wand from him and gave it a wish. A loud bang ensued, followed by a sound of an avalanche coming down from somewhere further away. She heard a shriek of a woman that was not her mother's and a large o _omph_. Alex rushed to the front of the store in a panic.

"I am so sorry!" she yelled as she came closer. There was a tall figure of a woman clad in black standing imposingly on the doorway, looking at her accusingly. Next to her stood a boy about her age. She looked for the source of the sound of the avalanche. It did not take long—there was a small hill of boxes that had fallen from the shelves above the doorway and there was another boy struggling out of the heap, dusting his cloak.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to—" unfortunately, however, Alex had forgotten the fact that she was holding the wand in her hand, and as she gestured frantically to the boy and the mother who was giving her a disdainful glare, the wand swished across the air and more boxes began to fall on them. A cloud of dust rose from the ground as the boxes hit the ground with dull thuds like raindrops. Alex felt a sting on her shoulder as one particular box hit her at a vicious angle.

"Well," she heard Ollivander say from behind her. "That wand will not do, will it?"

"Mr. Ollivander," the woman said in a cold voice, "if you insist on selling wands to creatures who have no idea what magic is, then the least you can do is to restrain them beforehand." Alex frowned, the apology at the tip of her tongue, but the choice of words the woman used stopped her.

"Walburga," she heard her mother's voice close to her, and saw that Sophia Wilson had drawn herself up from the chair at the commotion. "That's no way to speak in public, now, is it?"

A sneer appeared on the woman's face that thinly suppressed a violent dislike. "Sophia Wilson," she said. "I was wondering when you were going to come crawling out of the filthy nest of Muggles."

"I don't intend to, when the world is still full of the likes of you," Sophia shot back, and Alex looked at her mother, surprised at the venom in her voice.

"Mrs. Black," Ollivander stepped in quickly, his voice louder than usual. "Good evening. How can I be of service?"

It was evidently difficult for Mrs. Black to swallow whatever retort she had back at Sophia Wilson and turn her attention to Ollivander but she did so with a great deal of haughtiness and condescension. Her superiority was in her mind established through her generous act of overlooking such wrongness in society. "My sons," she said curtly, "need wands."

Alex had thus far avoided looking at the sons, in part because her experiences told her to stay clear of any boys her age, and in part due to the embarrassment she felt by dropping several dozen dusty boxes on their heads, however unintentional it had been. But it felt like a good idea to engage in the conversation to show that she was not some dimwitted creature incapable of following logic and observed the family.

Mrs. Black was tall with aristocratic features that may have inspired some admiration had she not looked down upon Alex with the most disagreeable sneer. The taller of the two boys was standing some distance away from her, looking at Alex with poorly disguised curiosity, but with none of the malice she felt from his mother. The smaller one, who had been struggling out of the heap of boxes, had managed to dust his cloak to a presentable state. The two were obviously brothers, both having black hair and similar features, but it seemed to Alex that the taller one resembled the mother more strongly with their mutual shared sharp features. The smaller boy, who observed the interaction between his mother, her mother, and Ollivander with aloofness, cast Alex a glance. Even though his features were softer, his cool gaze made Alex feel as though she was being analyzed and found lacking. Alex looked away, feeling strangely chastized and small.

"It seems, however, that we came at… the most disagreeable hour," Mrs. Black continued, again casting a glance down at Alex. "Perhaps we'll come back at later."

"But—" the taller boy started. The woman held out a hand in warning. He ignored it.

"We're leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow!" the boy almost yelled. "We don't have enough time."

Mrs. Black's head snapped toward the boy. "Did I teach you to talk back to me?" The boy opened his mouth to answer—from his stance, Alex surmised, rather defiantly—but the smaller boy intervened.

"I think what Sirius is worried about is that the shop closes in less than an hour, Mother. And it does not open until noon tomorrow, by then which we both would be on the train to Hogwarts." The boy's voice was calm, reasonable, and he looked up at his mother with a small smile. "I would very much like to get my wand before we leave."

The woman seemed to weigh the situation. "Very well," she finally concluded. "We shall stay." The last line was directed at Ollivander, who nodded and gently took the errant wand from Alex's hand.

"For another time, old chap," he told the wand before putting it in a tight wand box. "Mrs. Black, Mr. Black, and Mr. Black. If you could please sit down and wait a few minutes—"

"Wait?" Mrs. Black's elegant eyebrows rose high in her forehead. "Are you expecting us to—"

"It will not take long. Miss Wilson has been here for quite some time." With these words Ollivander disappeared to the back of the store again. Alex found herself standing awkwardly in the middle of the cramped room, with boxes and boxes of wands scattered around her. She wanted to help Mr. Ollivander organize them, but had little idea where all these went—or how she could even carry any of them.

"Mom—" she began, but Sophia Wilson had already drawn out her wand. With a flick, the boxes were slowly lifted above the ground. They seemed to move on their own accord, slowly flying to find their niches in the store.

"Thank you," Alex said quietly, going to stand beside her and staring at her shoes.

"It's not your fault," Sophia Wilson said just as quietly, drawing her daughter closer to her side.

"So this is the honor you bring to the pure line of the Wilson family," Mrs. Black drawled from her chair. "A mongrel."

"We've had our arguments, Walburga, and this is not the time nor the place for another."

"Oh? Tell me, how is dear Charles these days?" the grip on Alex's shoulder tightened.

"The last one!" Ollivander said from the hallway. "I am certain of it. Ebony, phoenix feather, twelve-and-a-quarter inches. Powerful yet flexible. A rather old mixture, I admit, but certainly reliable." Alex looked at it uncertainly. It was pitch black and something about it seemed ancient. Determined not to show the woman her uncertainty, however, she almost snatched the wand from Ollivander. A cool sensation ran from her fingertip to her spine down to her toes, unsettling her like the autumn wind that envelopes the embracer. She gave a gentle flick.

Dark blue and silver sparks erupted from the tip of the wand, energetically dancing in front of her in a fiery circle before running out the store window toward the setting sun. She looked at Ollivander. He was smiling.

"The wand came from a tree that had survived a great carnage," Ollivander said. "My father had sent me abroad to acquaint myself with different regions of the world, and I came across a once magnificent estate that had crumbled to the ground… Those were, of course, unstable times… The family had fled, I believe, to a more secure ground." He turned to fully face her. "The question you asked earlier… it may be the key to understanding your own powers."

* * *

"Don't pay them much mind, Alex," her mother said reassuringly over the dinner table. "They're not worth your time."

Alex looked up from the soup which she had been whirling around in the bowl with her spoon, trying not to look too sullen but apparently failing at it, judging from her mother's tone. "What did I do?" she said.

"Nothing. She's the one with the problems."

"It looked like you knew each other." Alex wasn't sure what she was trying to say—was she trying to be accusatory, or was she just befuddled by everything that happened today that she couldn't tell the significance of each event from the other?

"She's a distant relative—but never mind that. Alex, I'm going to tell you something, and you have to listen carefully. I want you to remember this when you go to Hogwarts." Alex looked back at her skeptically. Her mother sighed.

"It's difficult to explain these things when—," her mother stopped, frowned, and then began to drum her fingers against the table—the sign that she was thinking. "Alex, you'll meet many different types of people at Hogwarts. Some of the students will arrive already knowing a lot of things about the wizarding society and magic. Some of the students will arrive knowing… well, as much as you do. And the students who come in knowing more might look down on students who know less, but you know something? None of that matters in the end. Hogwarts was founded to teach students from all background the same material they need to become good wizards and witches, and the students who come in knowing a little more don't end up knowing a whole lot more than the students who didn't know much. What matters is who you are, how much you grow, how considerate you are to other people, how much you can do and achieve. Don't let other people tell you otherwise."

Alex looked at her mother. It seemed like Sophia Wilson had been thinking about what she wanted to say for a long time during the long stretch of silence that filled their ride to London. And her mother sounded very sure of what she was saying; that it didn't matter if she didn't understand a thing about being a wizard. But it was Alex who was going to a school where she didn't know anyone. It was she who was going to learn about magic without knowing how to properly hold a wand. She didn't even know if wizards said hello the same way non-wizards did.

"But I don't know anything. Literally nothing," she said, trying not to sound like she was complaining. In some ways she was—she didn't understand why her mother couldn't, wouldn't, explain more. "What on earth am I going to do when I can't—I don't know, when I can't fly, or something like that?"

For the first time her mother grinned. "Oh, you'll be able to fly," she said. "There are special lessons for that. You'll see." There was a pregnant pause. "Now eat your dinner—Tom likes to think that his onion soup is the best in Britain, and you'll hear an earful tomorrow morning if he sees any leftovers."


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure this is the right place? Platform nine and three quarters?"

Her mother, who had been putting the coins back into her wallet after buying Alex a sandwich—her lunch, she understood—barely looked up. "Of course. Platform nine and three quarters. The one and only."

"There's nothing there, mom."

Her mother grinned. It was disconcerting how much Alex had seen that grin despite her mother's obvious worry in the past twenty four hours; in her mind, Sophia Wilson smiled—tiredly, sadly, contently—but she never grinned. It was odd, how much being back in a society where she grew up changed her mother's behavior. She walked quietly but with certainty, never double-checking her directions or asking people hesitantly about what they wanted. Their drive from Leaky Cauldron to King's Cross had been brief and efficient, as her mother took various shortcuts that left Alex dizzy and confused. Even now in normal clothes, stowing away her wallet, her mother seemed stronger than she had in years.

"It's hidden, obviously. Otherwise Muggles would notice it and ask questions." Another oddity—the term Muggles, which referred to non-magical folks. It sounded odd coming from her mother, and even more so from Alex's own mouth. Alex was, in her mind, still not magical, an ordinary eleven-year-old girl waiting for her summer to be over so that she could go to the nearby secondary school. She _was_ a Muggle. But apparently she wasn't. And that dichotomy left her far too insecure and unsettled.

"It's good that there are few people here today—that makes things easier. Come along, now." Alex followed, dragging her trunk behind her, clutching the handle tightly. Her mother took her other hand. They soon stood in front of a brick wall.

"Um," Alex said, now about to voice her next question, but her mother was having none of it; she dragged Alex forward with her, and before Alex could open her mouth to yell something—preferably something that would have the headmaster of her previous school scold her for violent language—the ear-deafening sound of a train whistle rung through the station. Alex opened her eyes, not having realized that she closed them.

"Platform Nine and Three Quarters," her mother announced, almost proudly. "Here we are."

Alex turned around to see the wall behind her. It was just a wall. She extended her hand. It was solid and cool and rough beneath her touch. She ran her knuckles against the wall just to be sure. Hard.

"That is Hogwarts Express," her mother said, looking around. "You don't need a ticket to board, which is a relief. In my days they used to—"

"Mom?" Alex looked at her mother, who was squinting at a far distance. No, not so far—at a family who was approaching them.

"Mom, who are they?" Alex asked, subconsciously drawing closer to her mother's side.

"That, my dear, is your dear old uncle and his family. I suppose we must say hello." Her mother gritted her teeth, as though the prospect of meeting her sibling was unwelcome to her.

The family in question were, in fact, quite _wizard_ —at least so, by Alex's estimation; the parents both wore wizard robes, and even the boy, who looked about Alex's age, was already in his school uniform. The man did look a bit like her mother with his oval face and arching eyebrows, but the boy resembled his mother much more strongly. Alex looked at her mother again. She had a strained smile on her face.

"Sophie," the man said, his expression unfathomable.

"Charlie," her mother said tightly.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Likewise. You never told me that I had a nephew."

"I never got the chance."

"Right."

"Your daughter, I presume," he said, nodding at Alex.

"Alex. Alexandra Wilson. And your son?"

"Ben."

"Ah. Well." Sophia Wilson shifted her feet. "Alex, that's my brother and your uncle Charles, his wife Jen, and your cous—"

"No," Charles Wilson said curtly. Sophia Wilson raised her eyebrow. Alex knew that look—she did not like that look.

"No?"

"No." He inhaled, it seemed, with some effort. "You are not part of the family anymore. You made a choice thirteen years ago. You don't have a nephew. I do not have a niece."

"I would have thought," her mother said lightly, but the arm around Alex tightened. "That this silly feud between us was over."

"You thought wrongly." Charles turned toward his family. "You had better get on the train—otherwise you'll miss it."

"But—" the boy said, looking at Alex.

"Have I not made myself clear? They are not your relatives. Pay them no attention."

"I—" Ben was about to protest again, but his father steered them toward the other direction. He followed them, but not before he looked back at Alex and Sophia Wilson one last time.

"Well," her mother said after watching them go. "I must say that that went as well as I expected. Which, I suppose, is something I should be relieved about." She looked down at her daughter. "Ben seems like a nice enough boy, Alex. Say hello to him every once in a while, won't you?"

Alex nodded, but didn't answer, looking down at her shoes and scratching the soles against the floor.

"Charles was always a bit thick," her mother said brightly. "But he'll come to his senses soon enough, I hope. Pay him no attention."

"That's what _he_ said about _us_ ," Alex muttered.

"It will be fine," her mother rubbed her shoulders reassuringly. "You're going to Hogwarts! Aren't you excited?"

"Are you?" Alex said a little irritably. "He was horrible, and you didn't want me to go to Hogwarts to begin with." Alex felt horrible for saying these things when her mother was actually trying to cheer her up, but she couldn't help it; the wave of pessimism came crashing down as the doubts she had for the last few weeks finally seemed to break loose. "Now even your own brother refuses to see us. What happened thirteen years ago?"

Her mother regarded her carefully. "Do you remember what I told you last night?"

Alex frowned. "Yes," she muttered, silently adding, _it didn't help much_.

"I mean it—you can't let them get to you, Alex. Be strong, darling. You'll be brilliant, I know it." Sophia Wilson held her daughter tightly, and it was only then that Alex realized that the train was about to depart, whistling loudly, urging everyone to come on board. Instantly she was filled with regret. Was this their good-bye?

"We'll see each other on Christmas, won't we?" Alex said, words muffled against her mother's shoulder.

"Of course we will."

"Stay away from Mr. Whitman, alright?"

Her mother laughed. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "I was thinking of subletting your room. And Mr. Whitman would pay the rent, I'm sure." Alex scowled.

"Write to me every week, you hear?" her mother said. Alex nodded.

"Hogwarts might seem a little intimidating at first, but it will be okay." Alex nodded again.

"I can't keep you much longer—now go!" her mother smiled widely at her, and Alex tried to reciprocate the smile. The train whistle rang through the station again and other students hastily climbed on the train. Alex looked back at her mother.

"Go!" she said, and Alex managed to smile before climbing up herself, dragging her trunk behind her. The train lurched, and she quickly held on to the railing, feeling her heart beat against her chest. As it slowly began to move, Alex looked at the crowd of families below her, all beaming and waving their hand. She thought she saw her mother face among them, but it was only for a second and then she was gone. Alex blinked hard a few times and for a good measure pinched the bridge of her nose before setting out to find an empty compartment.

Finding an empty compartment, however, turned out to be a more arduous task than she'd imagined. Everyone seemed to have a group of their own in which they laughed and made jokes—everyone seemed so normal and so far away, that Alex had to keep walking down the corridor. Finally, at the end of the train, she found a compartment with a boy reading a book. She reached for the door, feeling nervous and irritated at her nervousness.

"Um," she said. "I'm sorry, but would you mind if I joined you? Everywhere else's full."

The boy looked up. He looked a bit surprised at her entrance, his eyes wary, but nevertheless he smiled tiredly and said "Sure," gesturing at the seat opposite from him. Murmuring a half-embarrassed thanks, Alex tried to be as undistruptive as possible as she quickly put away her trunk and sat down with a book.

"I'm Alex," she said quickly. "Alex Wilson. And you are?"

"I'm Remus Lupin," he said. "I know, and funny name, isn't it? My Mum was going through a Classics phase when she was pregnant with me."

"I think it sounds nice," Alex said, hoping that she didn't in any way make Remus feel uncomfortable. Which probably did make him feel a little uncomfortable. Remus, on the other hand, didn't seem reluctant to make conversation.

"Are you a first-year as well?" he asked, and Alex nodded.

"You too?" she said, and he grinned.

"Yup. Pretty excited to go to Hogwarts—I didn't think that I would be able to attend, but..." he shrugged nonchalantly, but Alex saw him bite his lips, as though he had said too much. "What house do you think you'll be in?" he asked eventually, looking back at her with a wide smile. It was obvious that his excitement at going Hogwarts trumped whatever awkwardness they felt about each other, and Alex was beginning to find the excitement infectious.

"Um," she said, not comprehending. Remus's eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

"Sorry, I didn't realize," he said quickly. "You don't come from a wizard family, do you? I wasn't really sure, because you're wearing Muggle clothes, but most wizards these days are okay with wearing Muggle clothes in public, although some families _do_ look rather ridiculous—but you look fine." Remus cleared his throat. "Sorry, I tend to babble when I'm nervous. Not that I'm nervous. At all."

Alex laughed. "It's fine," she said. "I think my mom's a witch, but I didn't know until summer, and..." she shrugged the same way he had, and Remus nodded in understanding.

"So there are four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin," Remus explained. "Every student is Sorted into a house—there's a ceremony at the start of the year. They say that the bravest are sorted into Gryffindor, the smartest into Ravenclaw, the kindest into Hufflepuff, and the most ambitious into Slytherin."

"Where do you want to go?" Alex asked, her mind whirling. Slytherin. She thought she had heard it before… then it came to her, during her visit to Ollivander's shop: _I must tell you that your father and brother did not take the news well when they were told you had run off with that Slytherin boy…_

Remus flushed. "I don't know. Ravenclaw seems like the most obvious choice: both my parents are from Ravenclaw. I suppose Hufflepuff isn't so bad, they're really nice and some of my relatives were Hufflepuffs. Gryffindor sounds really nice, though."

"What about Slytherin?" she asked inadvertently.

"Slyther—oh, right," Remus grinned sheepishly. "I forgot again. I suppose Slytherins have their own merits, but not many people would want to go there. Most of the Dark wizards are from Slytherin, you know."

"Dark wizards?" Alex repeated.

"Blimey, you really don't know?" Remus said, his eyes wide again. Alex, against her will, flushed in embarrassment.

"Of course I don't know," she muttered. "I didn't even know that I was a… a wizard until this summer, now, did I?"

"Right, right, sorry," Remus said, looking a little abashed. Alex fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, feeling more and more embarrassed by his attempts to be considerate. She had a feeling that this was going to be a regular occurrence, and had a nagging suspicion that not everyone was going to be as patient as Remus was right now. "There are wizards out there who are… well, who are sort of terrorizing Muggles and Muggleborns… um, Muggleborn witches and wizards, that is," he quickly added, trying to clarify some terms. "They're, well, they're not really particular about using magic to hurt people. They're called Dark wizards because they use the Dark Arts."

"Oh," Alex pondered. "Why would they attack Muggles and, um, Muggleborns?"

Remus looked uncomfortable. "Because they think they're superior to them," he said at last, his eyes fixing on a spot between Alex's eyes.

"Why would they think that?"

Remus sighed. "It's ridiculous, obviously. These wizards—most of them are purebloods, which mean that their families have been around for a fairly long time in the wizarding society—think that they're better than Muggleborns or Muggles because they're magical and apparently the rest of us are not and because their blood is "pure." Which is ridiculous, 'cause most of them must have married some half-bloods or Muggleborns at one point in history. Otherwise, the inbreeding would have made them die out. Or insane." Alex listened carefully, trying to take the words in. It didn't make any sense—it sounded like some medieval tale of princes and aristocrats who wanted to keep themselves undefiled.

"That's stupid," she said.

"Well, obviously," Remus answered, "and most people think that, too, but the purebloods do everything to keep their position in the society—most of them happen to be pretty wealthy and influential," he said, smiling ruefully. "My dad calls it a vicious cycle: because they've been around longer, they had more time to form connections and organize things to their advantage."

"And most Slytherins are purebloods?"

"I mean, not all of them. There aren't that many purebloods in each year to begin with. And many purebloods don't believe in this idea either. But most Slytherins are purebloods, and most of them agree that they're better than others."

"Oh," Alex said. She wondered if her father was as bad as the picture that Remus described: elitist, discriminating, aggresive. Again she remembered her uncle's reaction to her and her mother at the station, Ollivander's wry comment about their flying off the handle when they heard that Sophia Wilson had run off with a Slytherin boy. But Ollivander didn't seem to dislike her father… quite the contrary…

"Don't worry about them," Remus said reassuringly. "They usually keep to themselves. I'm sure that they won't bother you too much."

"So your parents are wizards as well?" Alex asked, trying to divert her thoughts back to their current conversation. He nodded.

"My mom's a Muggleborn, and my dad's… well, he doesn't really know. He came from a wizarding family, and his parents came from a wizarding family, but who knows who was what. I guess you can say that I'm mixed." He shrugged. "I did have to go to a Muggle school until this summer, though. My mom wanted me to get "proper education,"" he quoted the last two words, rolling his eyes.

Alex grinned. "What, you don't think arithmetics is an important part of your life?" she asked. Remus grinned back.

"Well, it is helpful at times, I suppose. Muggle history is fascinating, and I also liked the Muggle literature quite a bit, but it's difficult not to blurt out 'Merlin' or 'broomsticks' when you watch other boys play soccer," he smiled ruefully, as though trying not to look condescending. "It's really nice, though, because whenever we visit my mom's family on holidays, I can talk with my cousins and grandma prettily easily—my cousins don't know that my mom's a witch, you see. Her siblings know, but they're not allowed to tell. My dad's lost whenever we have these gatherings so he's always helping my mom out by cooking." He shook his head.

So they continued talking for quite a while. Remus showed her the book he was reading: _Hogwarts, a History_ by Bathilda Bagshot ("it's really fascinating, the castle's been there for _ages_ , and I can lend you the book if you'd like—"), tried to explain the intricate beauty of Quidditch ("it's a bit like Muggle soccer, but the players are on brooms, of course, and there are four balls, instead of just one—"), and got into an argument about the best Muggle sweet ("Mars bars, obviously," and it was the only point on which Alex could agree) when the compartment door opened and a plump witch smiled sunnily at them from the doorway.

"Would you like something to eat, dears?" she asked brightly. Alex looked out the window, and realized that it was almost mid-afternoon. How strange, that time flew by so fast.

"Um," Alex looked at Remus for help, but he had busied himself with his jacket and was looking at his lap when he muttered that he brought his own lunch.

"I also brought my lunch," Alex said to the witch. "I guess if there's anything to drink—" her mother had given her a couple coins before they left Leaky Cauldron—in case if you need it, she said—and Alex wasn't sure if there would be enough money for her during an emergency if she spent it now.

"Oh! There's pumpkin juice, and butterbeer, too, although you don't seem quite old enough..." the witch went on, and after consulting Remus about wizarding currency (the system was still just nonsensical to Alex), Alex learned that pumpkin juice didn't cost too much. She bought two bottles of pumpkin juice and a box of chocolate frog to share, and he accepted her offering with an embarrassed thanks.

Alex took out a half-mushed sandwich from her pocket. This was the last thing that her mother had bought her before they said good-bye, and Alex felt a pang of guilt as she realized that she hadn't thought about her mother since sitting down with Remus. Her mother was probably on her way back to their home in a car alone, and she frowned as she carefully peeled the wrapper. It wasn't as though they weren't going to see each other ever again—Christmas break was only a few months away and she had promised to write to Alex every week. The tip of her nose itched horribly the way it always did before she burst into tears and Alex told herself to stop being a ninny.

The pumpkin juice turned out to be more refreshing than she'd thought, and they ate in relative silence. As much as Alex felt petty about her sentiments, she was a little relieved that she wasn't the only one going to Hogwarts who came from a less than affluential background—the boys she'd seen at Ollivander's, for example, looked as though they were used to not noticing little things like money, but Remus seemed to catch on quickly when Alex asked him about wizarding currency that she couldn't afford to be improvident about what she had. Remus's clothes, although clean and well-kept, were rather worn, and his trunk seemed like it had seen better days. But Remus seemed nice and smart and patient and despite his use of 'Merlin' every once in a while Alex realized that she would have liked him regardless of his backgrounds. If only some of the boys at her previous school had been as half as nice.

After eating, Alex carefully opened her box of chocolate frog. Immediately the frog leapt out of the box, and she and Remus spent a good five minutes trying to corner it before he finally managed to tear off one of its legs. The frog stilled at once. Taking a bite of its head (freakily enough the belly of the frog was filled with caramel, and the head with some sort of fudge that Alex liked) Alex examined the box.

"There's a card," Alex noted as she looked at the blank portrait on it. By now she wasn't noting every abnormality that she came across, but she did jump in surprise when a man walked into the portrait in an imposing costume.

"Chocolate frog cards," Remus answered, nibbling on the frog's belly. "They feature famous witches and wizards across ages. Who do you have?"

"Um, Merlin," she said uncertainly as she stared at the wizard's dark eyes. The picture seemed to stare back at her before disappearing from the portrait. "He looks creepy."

Remus nodded. "They say he was a bit of an oddball. I guess most great wizards are. Dumbledore—the current headmaster of Hogwarts—he's known for—well, it would take less time to show you." Remus opened his copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ and began to leaf through it. "Architecture… Boarding… Guards… here it is. Headmaster." Alex moved to his side of the seat to get a better look. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. That's a picture of him right there." And surely, the moving portrait of Albus Dumbledore looked back at them over his half-moon spectacles and long, white beard tucked neatly around his waist. "Bizarre sense of fashion, even my grandmother doesn't wear that pattern anymore, but he is brilliant—"

"I'm sorry, but have you seen the trolley lady? I can't seem to find her anywhere," a voice came from the doorway preceded by a loud banging of the compartment door against the doorframe. "Oh, am I interrupting something?"

They looked up. In front of them stood two boys; one in front had dark, messy hair that stuck up in every direction and the other that stood behind him wearing an amused smirk was the boy Alex had seen in Ollivander's. Then the words registered with her, and she felt a faint blush creeping up her neck as she realized that she and Remus were sitting quite close to one another. Remus began to move himself as far away as he possibly could without seeming rude and Alex quickly went back to her side.

"She was here a while ago," Remus answered. "Why don't you check the front of the train? She probably needs to rest sometimes."

"Perfect idea," the boy with messy hair said, contemplating. "Hey, is that Dumbledore?" He pointed at the book in Remus's hand.

"Yup." Remus held up the book. "I thought I might get some reading done about the school."

The boy grinned. "Studious, aren't you? First year too, then? I'm James Potter and this is Sirius Black. And you are?"

"Remus Lupin," Remus said, shaking his hand.

"Alex Wilson," Alex said, also shaking James's hand, surprised. This boy seemed rather too friendly.

"Didn't I see you somewhere before?" the boy from Ollivander's asked suddenly, looking at Alex.

"Um," she said. "Yes. At Ollivander's. I think I dropped a pile of boxes on you. Sorry." The boy laughed a bark-like laugh.

"That wasn't me—that was my brother. But you're fine. My mom was quite livid about the incident," and somehow, this statement seemed to put her in his good graces. "He should have ducked away faster."

"So which house do you want to be sorted into?" James asked, and by the glint in his eyes, Alex surmised that he had been asking every first-year he came across this question.

"I'm not sure. Ravenclaw, probably," Remus held up the book as a proof. "You?"

James puffed up his chest comically. "Gryffindor, of course. My entire family's been there. Where the bravest hearts dwell." He paused. "This one's family's been in Slytherin for generations, if you can believe it," he said, patting Sirius' shoulder.

"I said forget about it," Sirius grumbled. Alex looked at Sirius more closely; from his mother's reactions to her in the shop, it would have been a fair guess to assume that he was from a pureblood family. But he didn't seem to have anything against her family and Alex decided not to push it.

"Well, nice meeting you all," James said. "But we really need to find the trolley. We made a bet—there is a vampire blood flavor bean in Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, and I'll prove it," with those words he marched out of the compartment. Sirius followed him, rolling his eyes at the two sitting and shaking his head. Remus quietly got up after they left and closed the door. He sighed

"Bloody mad, he is," he said, but he was smiling. "There's no vampire blood flavor bean in Bertie Beans."

"There isn't?"

"'Course not," Remus answered. "Everyone knows the red one's apple."

* * *

The rest of the train ride passed quietly and before long the dusk began to set outside the window. Remus excused himself to the bathroom while Alex changed and soon they were disembarking carefully into a rather chilly night air. It was lightly drizzling, and Alex felt silly, wearing a cloak, her wand carefully tucked inside, with a ridiculous pointy hat on her head. The had did protect her from the rain a bit, but it was still uncomfortable. She took it as a consolation that everyone else was wearing the same clothing as well.

"Firs' years! Firs' years! Follow me!" they heard a loud voice, and quickened their pace to keep up with a giant man leading the children.

"Who is he?" Alex whispered, trying not to stare obviously. He was tall, easily over seven feat and massive around the waist. Remus shrugged. The body of first years soon arrived at a dock.

"Three or four students fer boat, alrigh'?" Remus and Alex soon found a boat at the edge of the dock and settled themselves in. The rain was beginning to pour more strongly and Alex could feel the water running across the bridge of her nose before finally dropping from the end. She wiped it, but it didn't help.

"May we join you?" a friendly voice asked, and they looked up to find a bright-faced girl with auburn hair and a boy standing behind her. Wordlessly they scooched over to make room.

"I'm Lily Evans. This is Severus Snape." The girl seemed quite excited and happy despite the rain and she looked at them in turn, smiling widely. The boy—Severus—on the other hand, seemed more like a quiet sort. "And you are?"

"Remus Lupin," Remus said.

"Alex Wilson," Alex also replied. Something about the girl's smile made her feel at ease and yet put her on guard.

"Can you believe it? Hogwarts!" the girl chattered. "I read all about it, of course, in _Hogwarts, a History_ , and I heard that the lake was used to breed several different types of aquatic creatures—you know, like an aquarium—do you think it's safe to cross it with boats? They don't look that sturdy." Alex opened her mouth to say something comforting—the bit of news alarmed her more than it seemed to affect Lily—but the boat started, and soon its rocking motion against the water made everyone in the boat quickly close their mouths. The water was indeed quite turbulent, and, with the thick rain, Alex could barely see in front of her. Suddenly, she heard a shriek.

"Wha—" she heard Severus begin to say, but the need for explanation became moot as they felt the boat rise from the water. Alex's grip on the edge of the boat tightened.

"Don' worry! 's jus' the squid havin' a little bi' o' fun, he won' hur' yeh!" The man's voice boomed across the lake, but that assurance did not help much as Alex saw the moon grow bigger. Lily quickly took out her wand. Alex considered her options. She could take out her wand, but she didn't know any spells. She sank lower into her seat and looked around; Snape also had his wand out but was having a hard time trying to see through the darkness, and Remus had glued himself to the floor of the boat. Apparently he had arrived at the same conclusion that Alex had.

"What do you think?" she shouted.

"Wait it out!" Remus said. "If what he says is true, then not much should happen, right?"

Then they felt their stomachs lurch as the boat dropped, some twenty feet from the air, to the dark lake.

* * *

Anyone who witnessed the sight of the first years as they emerged out of the lake into the castle grounds would not have been able to but feel a sense of pity. They were a sorry sight indeed; most of them quite short and slight, and soaked to the bones due to the rain and unexpected diving, they left a long trail of puddle that could have inundated a small garden as they trudged up the stone staircases of Hogwarts. Alex felt too tired and too cold to be sufficiently impressed by the size of the entrance hall, the intricate carving of the staircase rails, the gargoyles that adorned every nook and cranny of the castle. Remus was leafing through his copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ with a worried look; it had survived the worst with the protection of his cloak, but it was still quite wet. Lily was trying to squeeze the water out of her long hair and Snape walked simply forward, unwilling to even acknowledge his wet clothing and hair. The reason for his apparent indifference became clear soon enough.

"Alright there, Snivellus?"a loud voice said, and several people sniggered around him. Alex turned to the source of the voice and found James and Sirius looking gleefully at Severus. "Managed to survive the dive, eh? Must say it's improved your hair quite a bit..."

"Shut up, Potter," Snape muttered lowly.

"What's their problem with you?" Alex muttered. James and Sirius seemed alright enough when she saw them.

"Who knows. I only met them today."

"They're arrogant bullies, obviously," Lily said indignantly as she shook the water from her head like a dog. "Ignore them, Sev. They're not worth our time." Alex looked around. It was the third time she had heard something along the lines: _ignore them_. She looked at Remus and he raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Well then, first years," Alex looked up to the voice and found none other than Professor McGonagall standing before them, an imposing figure not to be reckoned with. She swallowed as McGonagall swept an assessing look over them as though she could expunge their most mischievous intentions with a withering look. Alex had no doubt.

"You are late, Hagrid" McGonagall said at last.

"Sorry, professor, we came across one o' 'em squids, and it was rainin'," the man, Hagrid, said. McGonagall nodded.

"Very well." Then she took the wand from her robes and, before the students could say anything, dried off their clothes with a flick of a wand. "Now first years, follow me. The Sorting Hat has been getting impatient."

Alex looked uncertainly at the back of the students' heads that moved in front of her. No one said anything about a hat. It couldn't be more ridiculous than the one she was waring now, could it?


	4. Chapter 4

"GRYFFINDOR!" A loud cheer came from the far right side of the hall as Lily Evans took off the ancient hat from her head and joined the jubilant crowd. Next to her Alex saw Severus shift glumly.

"Don't want to be in Gryffindor, then?" Alex asked quietly. He shook his head. Remus, on the other hand, had been looking more and more often to the right side of the hall. Alex swallowed.

The Sorting ceremony had not been as terrible as she had imagined—it surprised her, but most things in the Great Hall did, the floating candles, the sight of the starry sky behind the ceiling windows that Alex knew couldn't be real. At the center of the teacher's chair sat Dumbledore, with his half-moon spectacles just as Alex had seen from _Hogwarts, a History_. She looked around nervously, at the older students' intent gaze upon the first year sitting on the stool (Fenwick, she thought his name was). She did not fancy being in Fenwick's position right now.

"Lupin, Remus!" McGonagall called. Remus paled, and Alex patted him on the shoulder as encouragement.

"Good luck," she said, although she wasn't sure what for.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat cried soon after. Remus went to the far right side of the hall as well, looking relieved and grinning widely. One of the prefects stood and thumped him on the back. Alex watched as he joined Lily and Sirius.

"There goes your pal," Severus said under his breath. Alex cocked her head to one side, considering his words. Was Remus her _pal_?

For the rest of the sorting they stood in silence until Severus was called up to the stool. Alex thought about wishing him luck again, but thought better of it.

After some deliberation, the hat cried, "SYLTHERIN!" The table on the farthest left cheered mutedly. Alex began to feel nervous. What if the Hat decided that she wasn't suited for any of the houses? Did that ever happen? What if her housemates didn't like the fact that she was sorted into their house? She had hoped to have a fresh start—a good start—at Hogwarts, and it felt like she had no control over the next seven years of her school life at all. She glanced at Remus on the far right table and he waved at her. She tried to smile, but it came out like a grimace. Alex thought that she had seen Ben somewhere in the Ravenclaw table area, but wasn't feeling bold enough to look around. Around her students began to leave, one by one, until two other students remained. She started at the name Watson and then resumed looking down at her shoes.

"WILSON, ALEXANDRA!" Alex looked up. She thought she heard someone murmur, "Wilson? A relative of yours, Benj?" but she didn't linger to hear the response. She breathed out slowly. This was going to be fine. She sat down on the stool just as she had seen other students to and felt the weight of the heavy leather being placed on her head.

"Another Wilson, hmmm? They certainly do come around every few years, don't they?" The Hat chuckled at Alex's surprise. "Don't worry, I won't bite. So let's see…" it _hmmm_ ed for a long time. Alex waited, unsure if she could actually speak to the hat. No other student had actually spoken aloud during the Sorting.

"Well, you can ask, of course. I'm not sure if I can provide you with a satisfactory answer," the Hat said. "I think I do see talent… yes, you do have your mother's brain, thank Merlin for that, the Wilson family's growing dumber and dumber each generation, I'm certain of it…" the Hat was much blunter than Alex had thought. "Well, of course I have to be honest. Now let's see. Where shall I put you?"

The Hat chuckled, sounding unpleasantly like he was enjoying himself. "So unsure of yourself! That's to be expected, I suppose. But you're not that soft, I see, quite strong… very determined… already on a quest, Miss Wymond?" the Hat's chortling was beginning to get on her nerves. "But of course! Who else would it be? But where shall I put you? There's the strength, yes, but you're still quite clever. We would hate to waste that, wouldn't we? But there's also a sense of adventure… the capacity for devotion… Very difficult indeed." The Hat paused. "But where is your home? You don't know? But of course you do… well, then, I'll give you the same opportunity that I gave him twenty years ago. You certainly are your father's daughter. I'm confident that you'll be great there… _SLYTHERIN_!"

Alex opened her eyes. She didn't realize that she had closed them to begin with. The shout of the Hat rang in her year. From the farthest left she could hear people politely clapping—other three tables were silent. She shot a quick look at Remus; he seemed surprised and a little disappointed. Alex swallowed. So the only _pal_ she had in this school wasn't very happy.

She slowly walked to the Slytherin table, aware of the pursed lip with which McGonagall had looked at her as she took the hat off of her. She couldn't give McGongall any other look than confusion. Surely, the Slytherins—they couldn't be that bad. As she approached, the prefect, a boy with pale blond hair, stood up and shook her hand formally.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said without ado. "Welcome to Slytherin."

"Thanks," Alex muttered, still a bit bewildered. Wordlessly, Severus slid to make room for her when she came closer but didn't offer any words of congratulation. Alex shifted uneasily, sending furtive glances around the table. Most students around her seemed indifferent to her presence.

The headmaster had begun to give a speech and Alex tried to appear attentive, although very few people at her table seemed to make the same effort. Inside her head the words of the Hat ran around in a dizzying circle. _Another Wilson… I'll give you the same opportunity that I gave him twenty years ago. You certainly are your father's daughter… your father's daughter… your father's daughter…_

 _Miss Wymond._

"Wilson!"

She jerked out of her reverie. The prefect that had shaken her hand was looking down at her from the far end of the table. What was his name—Malfoy? She flushed. "I beg your pardon?" she said.

"The food's getting cold," Malfoy said without particular malice. "I suggest that you eat now."

"Right," Alex said, feeling the flush growing darker. How long had she been sitting there like an idiot? She began to quickly pile the food on her plate. It wasn't so different from what she was used to, although if Alex had to admit, it was a bit richer and, quite honestly, a lot more generous.

"I can't say that I blame you," she heard a voice say from across her and Alex looked up from her plate. A girl about her age sat there, looking at her with curious eyes. Her brown hair was plaited neatly, falling straight onto her back.

"Dumbledore's speech," the girl continued. "The old man thinks he's so funny when he's actually more boring than a toad." Alex got a feeling that this comparison was supposed to be witty, but wondered if it wasn't a tad disrespectful. She smiled slightly, wondering which reaction would be the best for her.

"Rebecca Goyle," the girl said, extending her hand. Alex shook it mutedly. "This is Leila Parkinson and Kristen Zabini, who's in second year." The two girls indicated pointedly ignored their conversation.

"Alex Wil—" she began.

"I know who you are," Rebecca said. "You're the Wilson girl."

Alex paused, wondering if she had misheard. "I'm sorry?" she said.

"The Wilson girl," Rebecca repeated as though it explained everything.

"I don't understand," Alex said.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "So the rumors are true, then?" she asked. "You've been kept out of the loop the entire time?"

"What rumors?" Alex said, beginning to feel the irritation bubble inside her but, for the sake of dignity, swallowing it down. She got a feeling that Rebecca was testing the waters, checking her for—what, Alex didn't know, but she had no intention of letting Rebecca get the better of her.

"That Sophia Wilson ran away with a Muggle boy," Rebecca stated matter-of-factly. "She became a blood-traitor, gave up all her magic, and is now currently living with a Muggle husband and three children and raising them as Muggles." Rebecca squinted her eyes at her. "Do you have any younger siblings? Hold on—why is your surname still Wilson? Did your mum have enough sense to feel ashamed about her husband?" Next to her Alex sensed rather than saw Severus tense up.

But inside her mind was whirling. _What_ Muggle husband? As far as she could gather, her father was a wizard—a Slytherin, the Hat said. And how on earth did this obnoxious girl even know about her mother?

"You tell me, you seem to know more about it than I do," Alex said cooly, taking a bit of her potato.

Rebecca seemed a little disappointed. "Thought I would ask," she said. "Although you obviously seem to have better sense than her. You're sorted into Slytherin, after all." With these words Rebecca turned to Leila and they began to chatter about something they had begun on the train ride.

Alex's mind went back to Remus's words during the train ride. Purebloods, he said, thought they were better than others because their blood was pure. Alex looked around. Rebecca Goyle and Leila Parkinson, the girl had said with confidence that could only come from someone who never doubted their place in the world. With automatic stability and security that could only translate as condescension to those who have never been in their places. She looked around at the faces of boys and girls with whom she was supposed to share the next seven years of her life. It seemed impossible that she would be able to find a friend among the unidentifiable mass of indifferent, superior gazes. Even Snape, whom she spent some time with (they fell into the Black Lake—that counted as a common experience, didn't it?) was steadfastedly ignoring her, making few remarks as he listened to the boys near him with a dark gaze.

Alex would have enjoyed the wide selection of dessert available when it suddenly appeared on the table if she had been in a better mood. The chocolate eclairs and small tarts filled with fruits and custard positively shined under the wide arch of the candlelight, but Alex was focusing more on what others were saying. Something about their classes. Alex didn't know enough to join in, and did not have the heart to ask Snape. Charms—she'd bought a Charms textbook, didn't she? She'd assumed that the class schedule had already been decided.

The dinner passed slowly, and Alex rubbed her eyes tiredly when the students were all dismissed. She stood up wearily and followed the self-important voice of Lucius Malfoy crying "First years! Follow me!" as the rest of the Slytherin table stood up and trudged toward the entrance. They walked through the dark corridor—several dark corridors, in fact, dimly lit by candlelight—and Alex had a feeling that the floor was slanted and that they were going under the ground, but it was difficult to tell with all the chatter around her numbing her awareness and her own fatigue wearing her down. She rubbed the place between her eyebrows, trying to remain alert.

"The password changes every other week," she heard Malfoy say. "This week's password is _Parseltongue_." Alex repeated it to herself: Parseltongue. Whatever that meant, that was. The door opened and Alex went in with others, feeling the stone walls brush against her elbows.

"Remember, your classes will start tomorrow. The breakfast begins at seven and Professor Slughorn will distribute your schedules at eight. Prepare yourselves accordingly. The boys' dormitory goes this way—" he pointed at a staircase on the left— "and the girls' dormitory goes the other way. The common room is being used tonight by the fifth years and above, so don't bother us. Now go away." Alex raised an eyebrow at the arbitrary authority in Malfoy's voice, but everyone seemed to go up the stairs, and Alex hurried after them. She found the room for first years easily enough: the door on the farthest right read 'FIRST YEARS.'

Rebecca Goyle and Leila Parkinson had already settled themselves in their beds and Alex went to her side of the room. Her trunk was already placed neatly at the foot of her bed and she wondered briefly who had put it there, but the question seemed trivial at the moment. Rebecca was giggling softly about something and Alex turned her body to their side of the room, not wishing for a conversation but knowing that she could not at least appear to make an effort.

"It's a shame that both brothers aren't in Slytherin," Rebecca was saying. "But I guess it doesn't really matter—Sirius is already off-limits." Alex perked slightly at this—there was only one person she knew whose name was Sirius. She doubted that it was a common name.

"Oh please. Like you stand a chance with Regulus," Leila, Alex had gathered from dinner, was much more down-to-earth than Rebecca, and much warier of the world around her than Rebecca, who seemed to possess a good amount of optimism that Alex had never found in herself. The name Regulus rang a bell; she had spent a good chunk of dinner wondering if she should apologize to the boy who was sitting a few seats away from her. She'd recognized him from Ollivander's, and after Sirius's confirmation about him not having borne the fall of dusty boxes, Alex wanted to make amends—she wanted to make a better first impression, especially if he was going to be in her house for the next seven years. But the younger brother had proved to be much less gregarious than the older one, and Alex gave up on trying to catch his attention after a few furtive glances shot in his direction. Hopefully he did not remember who she was. Unfortunately, something told her that her life at Hogwarts was going to be anything but lucky.

"I have as much chance as _you_ have," Rebecca shot back, all traces of giddy lightheadedness gone from her voice. It seemed odd to Alex that they should be talking about an eleven-year-old boy in this way, but she was beginning to see that there were certain things that she didn't quite understand about the Slytherin house.

"Does it matter anyway? He's the second son. He's not going to worth much when Sirius becomes the heir to the family."

"He's still a Black, though. And quite easy on the eyes," Rebecca giggled again. Leila rolled her eyes and as she turned around their eyes for a split second. Alex flinched away at the dare in Leila's eyes, feeling as though she had been caught spying on something that she shouldn't have.

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed," Leila announced loudly, and without further ado closed the curtains of the four-poster bed. Rebecca followed her suit without any comment. Alex opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again, looking at the bed spread that she was sitting on.

"Good night," she muttered, and crawled into the bed.

* * *

The next morning she woke up with a pain in her neck and hear heart beating painfully against her chest. She lay there, bewildered for a moment, trying to remember what it was that caused her such alarm. And then she remembered. It wasn't her small bed in the attic of her house that she was lying on and it was the first day of school.

It felt like she had forgotten something.

Breakfast. Schedules. Eight o'clock.

She sat up and wildly made a grab for the clock on the bedside table. It was barely six.

Alex slumped back into her bed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She had not slept well that night.

It soon became clear that she wasn't going to go back to sleep, however, and Alex groaned before pulling herself up from the bed. The room was still dark, and it took a few minutes of trudging around and bumping into things relying on an eerie glow that came from the window—if it even could be called a window—before Alex found the toilet and got changed. Rebecca and Leila were still sleeping. Alex tried to avoid making too much noise—it would hardly get her in their good graces if she woke them up too early in the morning. Although Alex didn't really know the etiquette of the people anymore. Would it be better to wake them up so that they won't be late or leave them be in their private spaces?

Alex rummaged through her trunk and found a small roll of parchment, a new quill, and a bottle of ink. She quietly crept down the staircase leading to the common room, where to her relief she found the fireplace still burning and a few lamps left on for people's comfort. Alex found an armchair by the far corner that gave to her weight and dipped her quill in the ink bottle, feeling unsettled. She had never used a quill, and her writing, though quite acceptable with a pencil, soon proved to be illegible with a quill.

 _Hi Mom,_ she wrote.

 _I'm at Hogwarts! I guess you know that already. The train ride was actually alright and I met a few people along the way. They're all in different houses though. I was sorted into Slytherin—is that a bad thing? People in my house are a little aloof, but I think that they'll be alright after a while—we'll see._

 _I woke up too early and didn't know what else to do. I heard that the lessons start today, and I'm a bit nervous—what if I turn out to be completely hopeless? Maybe I should try to read the textbooks a little before class. I hope you got home safely._

 _Love,_

 _Alex._

By the time she was done writing this short letter three of her fingers were splotched with black ink and there was an ugly smudge at the edge of the palm that looked like a particularly unpleasant bruise. She carefully rolled up the parchment, feeling the foreign resistance of the paper beneath her fingers, and put it in her pocket. She quietly crept back up to her room to stow away the writing utensils before checking the clock one last time. Almost six thirty. That should give her enough time.

Her mother had explained to her that Hogwarts kept a supply of owls for students' use in case they wanted to send mails to their homes. Alex had been practically salivating as she looked at the cages after cages of owls in a pet shop at Diagon Alley before her mother firmly pulled her aside from the more dangerous thoughts of owning a pet. They couldn't afford to keep a pet, her mother reminded her, and there would be owls at Hogwarts so that she could send her letters whenever she wanted to. Her mother had mentioned that there was an owlery of some sorts, but hadn't specified where it was located. Somewhere higher, Alex figured. She quietly closed the common room door behind her, one hand tightly holding the wand in her pocket. Although she didn't have any idea how to use it, its presence made her feel safer.

The corridors were only dimly lit by the torches on the walls, and it was not until she had managed to get herself out of the dungeons that Alex could see the castle more clearly. The sun was just beginning to rise and the light of the dawn peeked through the elongated lancelots that were interspersed among every few columns. The entire castle felt like a large church, except that Alex doubted that the wizards believed in a god—after all, god was supposed to be magical, wasn't he? But the wizards weren't gods themselves.

It did not take long for her to find the entrance hall that she came through less than twelve hours ago. She slowly began to climb up the stairs, wondering at the silence with which the stairs changed their directions, carrying her upward. She ascended slowly, taking one step at a time, feeling the coldness of the stone handrail. She could hear her own breath in her ears, the chill of the morning air that filled the castle. No one was awake.

"Who's walking around at this ungodly hour?" a cranky voice came from behind her, and Alex gasped, looking around.

Behind her was a portrait of a rather plump lady holding a flute filled with what looked like champagne. Her coiffure was arranged elegantly above her head and her dress exposed her décolletage more than Alex would have cared to see. Alex cleared her throat.

"I'm looking for the Owlery," she said. "Could you tell me the way?"

"Wrong tower," the woman replied, apparently still cranky and quite drunk. "You're looking for the one on the west side." Without elaboration the woman disappeared from the painting.

Alex bit the inside of her cheeks. West. How was that supposed to help her? She peered out the window, looking at the sunrise. The pales of the sky was beginning to turn warmer, the farthest horizon that stretched beyond the forest beckoning at the burning orb, a slow seduction. The sun was beginning to rise. Alex turned around. The West Tower should be easier to find now.

Unfortunately, it was not so easy to climb up the stairs once she found it. Alex was practically panting out of breath when she reached the final step. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath.

The acrid smell of bird dropping was what she sensed first, followed by a loud crunch beneath her shoes that turned out to be a skeleton of some animal. Alex wrinkled her nose. Perhaps it wasn't a bad idea not to have an owl.

"What are you doing here?" she heard and looked up in surprise. Across the small circular room stood a boy about her age with dark hair. On his forearm rested a small tawny owl who looked at her with its wide, tawny eyes, as though silently assessing her for his owner.

"I—" Alex started, and then, confused, asked, "what are _you_ doing here?"

Regulus shrugged. His face wasn't exactly hostile, which Alex noted with relief, but he didn't seem particularly happy to have been disturbed, either. "I was checking on my owl." At his voice the owl turned around to face him and hooted softly. Alex had to admit that for an owl, it was remarkably well-behaved; other owls in the owlery were either sleeping, their heads ostensibly stuck underneath their wing in an exaggerated way that Alex suspected weren't actually sleeping, or flying around the owlery, hooting, their eyes never leaving the newcomer.

"I was trying to send a letter," Alex said, looking around. A grave-looking owl was watching her quietly, and when she took out her letter, settled in front of her expectantly. Alex offered the owl the roll of parchment, but the owl just stared back, drawing itself back as though offended. She heard an impatient sigh behind her.

"Give it here," Regulus said, and before Alex had a time to respond, he snatched the letter from her hand and was holding up something between his fingers in front of the owl. "Owl treat," he said, now carefully tying the letter to the owl's leg. "Flying isn't an easy job, you know."

Alex felt a familiar flush creep up her face. "I'm sorry," she said to the owl, and it pecked her on her ear before it set off into the morning sky. She felt small, small enough that even an owl could comfort her.

"Thanks," she muttered, looking at nowhere in particular. Regulus shrugged again. Then suddenly he began to look around, prowling about the space and peering behind niches where the owls were resting.

"Where is my owl—Merlin, that thing is _tiny_..." Alex stood there, uncomprehending, before she saw what was going on.

"Um. He's over there."

"Where?" Regulus sounded almost frantic.

"There—on the edge of the sill."

"The edge of the—" he stopped in his tracks, his eyes focusing on the feathery ball perched on the stone window sill that was high up from both of their reaches. "How did it even get up there? No. No, come here," Regulus said, but the owl only looked blankly back at him. He held out his hand, but the owl didn't respond. "You know you're too young to fly," Regulus said, but the owl didn't budge. Alex thought for a second—didn't the birds learn to fly on their own?

"What's its name?" Alex asked.

"What?" Regulus asked distractedly.

"You could try, you know. Calling it by its name." Alex felt strange, giving him an advice, but if there was something strange Regulus didn't notice it.

"It doesn't have one," Regulus said.

"I thought it was your owl."

"It is. I just haven't—" he stopped in his tracks as the owl edged closer and closer to the end of the sill, where nothingness but thin air began. "Oh, Merlin," Regulus groaned

"He'll be fine. Birds learn to fly by themselves."

"His wings were broken a month ago. It never learned to fly, alright?" Regulus snapped.

"Oh," Alex said.

"C'mon, you stupid bird," Regulus muttered. "Come down from that edge, won't you?"

"Edge," Alex said.

"What?" Regulus said, still sounding irritable.

"No. Look. Edge," she said, and the bird peered down at her again from the great windowsill, slowly waddling closer to the inside of the room.

"He likes the word, you see? Edge," she repeated, and the bird suddenly flopped down from the windowsill, like a penguin diving into icy water.

"N-" Regulus began, but stopped short. The tiny barn owl was suspended mid-air, its wings flapping—not quite gracefully, but undoubtedly—supporting its flight. It descended slowly on Alex's shoulder and looked accusatorially at Regulus. Alex reached out to pet its head and the owl jumped on to her hand, hooting.

"Well, then," Regulus said after a while. "Edge, come here." The owl flittered across the owlery to his owner's side.

They had descended from the West tower in silence when they heard the voice.

"Oi, look who it is—little Regulus and his girlfriend!" The source of the taunt was none other than Sirius Black, who was looking at them with curious eyes. "It's been less than a day, little brother. Surely there's a grace period for waiting before deciding to shame dear old Mommy."

Regulus frowned for a fraction of a second before his face smoothed. "I need to talk to you," he said to Sirius.

"And abandon your girlfriend?" It was only then that Sirius realized who it was. "Oh. Hi, Alex. I didn't recognize you. Different clothes, and all."

"It's fine," Alex muttered, feeling the awkwardness of the world 'girlfriend.' She turned toward Remus, who had been standing a little behind Sirius and James. "Hi, Remus," she said.

"Good morning," he replied, but he was looking at them a little quizzically.

"But what are you doing coming from the tower at this hour?" Sirius asked. "The Slytherin common room is in the dungeons."

"I need to talk to you," Regulus repeated.

Sirius frowned. "I wasn't aware that we had anything to talk about."

"We do and you know why."

Sirius sighed. "Fine, then," he said. "Have it your way. I don't have much to say anyway." He turned to his housemates. "Go on without me. I'll catch up with you." He and Regulus went the opposite way of the corridor, neither trying to speak to each other.

"Shall we go then?" James said. "I don't know what that was about, but Sirius did say that his brother was a bit of a stuck-up." They began to go down the stairs to the Great Hall.

"How are you?" Remus asked politely.

"I'm alright, I think. You?"

"Alright." Remus paused. "So Slytherin, huh?"

"Slytherin," Alex confirmed.

"I guess it came out as a surprise," Remus said. "Not that you can't be a Slytherin, obviously, but you didn't know much about the house beforehand, and most students who didn't know about it don't usually go there—not that you can't go, of course. I just thought that you were—" Remus stopped. "I'm babbling again," he said, smiling abashedly. "Sorry. It'll all be fine, won't it?"

Alex studied his profile from beside him, the hair falling into his eyes, the sincerity in his voice. "Of course it will," she said.


	5. Chapter 5

"Very good, Miss Evans! Excellent work. Ten points for Gryffindor."

Alex grit her teeth. The potion gently bubbling in front of her was the exact shade of orange that the textbook described. She stirred it a twice counter clock-wise, watching as it turned a shade brighter.

"Mr. Potter, I am certain that this is not your best work..."

"I assure you, professor, that all this was very intentional—"

"Mr. Black, I also expected better from you. Look at your brother's!"

The brother in question was using the same table with Alex. Alex shot him a look; he didn't even glance up from his chopping board, the mandrake root precisely cut and stacked on one side. He wiped his knife on a towel.

"Yes, well, he has always been a stickler for these things..."

Alex went back to her own potion. Slughorn passed through the Slytherin section of the room without much comment, although he did stop to praise Severus, who had breezed through the instructions and was now adding bits of green grass to his red concoction, and Regulus, whose work was moving along at the same pace as Alex's.

"Lovely work, m' boy, lovely work," Slughorn said, thumping Regulus on the shoulder. Alex didn't look up as Slughorn passed by her side of the table and he didn't comment. She merely proceeded to crush the green grass in her hand, letting the juice drip from her knuckles. The gentle aroma of the grass mixed with the pungent smell of the liver and Alex squinted at the potion.

Her mother had warned her in one of her many letters that Slughorn played favorites, and although Alex did not mention this in her letter, it was clear that Slughorn had no intention of making her one of his favorites despite her performance in class. Alex's eyebrow automatically shot up at the notion. It was not quite that she wished to be favored by the old, pudgy professor—as far as she could tell, Slughorn was, although an expert in his field, not very fit for the vocation of teaching compared to other teachers such as McGongall or Flitwick, far too concerned with what the students could do for him, as opposed to what he could do for them—but she did wish to be acknowledged for her abilities. Her essays at least seemed to have been graded fairly, but Alex couldn't be sure.

The class ended and Alex left quickly, barely pausing to seal her vial of potion and slapping it onto Slughorn's desk. It was early afternoon in late October and the sun was already beginning to set on the horizon when Alex arrived at the library. She went to her desk—her desk, because it was located in the far corner away from the general studying area, facing a small window on one side and surrounded by shelves and shelves of dusty books that had not been opened for dozens of years. She sighed.

It was the only place that she could find her bearing in the wide, large castle. Very few people frequented this part of the library, and not many people were eager to study on a Friday. Alex looked around furtively to check if anyone was looking her way before she slid the book hidden from the plain view by the wooden panels of the table from its hiding place, rubbing her hand over the cover, trying to smooth it over.

She'd found the book only yesterday, during one of her many daily visits to the library. She had taken to studying in the dusty old place, at first because she had worried about falling behind other students. It soon became apparent from her lessons that other students didn't know much about magic, either, but the feeling of panic still remained. Besides, there was nothing else to do; Rebecca and Leila often spent time together and it was difficult to join their conversations. Severus and she interacted during class, exchanging notes whenever they needed it but otherwise remaining distant. To other boys in her year she spoke whenever she needed to and they spoke to her when they needed to. Remus sometimes joined her in the library, but his visits were inconsistent—she'd been told that he often got sick—and grew less and less frequent as he became preoccupied with his friends in Gryffindor—Potter, Black, Pettigrew. No one else in the castle were willing to talk to her; she didn't realize until the second week into school that this was because she was a Slytherin. The library soon became one of the few places in the castle where she was allowed to go despite her house and she became accustomed to taking refugee there. The studying, if nothing else, helped her keep up with her classes, and she had also found very interesting books on Hogwarts and wizarding history that she realized weren't very hard to comprehend as long as she wrote down the names.

It was during one of her excursions through the section of the library dedicated to Hogwarts history that she found several shelves of records about previous students at Hogwarts. Some of them dealt with famous figures that went through Hogwarts—the Founding Fathers, Merlin, and even Dumbledore—that were well-worn, but others were perfectly preserved save for several layers of dust that seemed to place the books away from the rest of the library in present time to a distant while ago where nothing ever happened that anyone could touch.

It took a while before she could locate the year she was looking for, and when she finally did the day before the library was about to close and the shrill voice of Madam Pince was ringing through the aisles like a banshee's screams. She exhaled, her heart beginning to accelerate at the sight of the letters engraved over the cover: _Hogwarts: Year 1956-1957_. Her mother must have been in her last year at Hogwarts. Alex opened the book and unceremoniously began to leaf through it until she found the section she was looking for. She swallowed.

Her mother was smiling at her, her face unmarred by the years that Alex had known her. Her hair was longer and combed by the fingers of the wind, obscuring the view to the wide smile. The unfamiliar sight of her mother in wizard robes made Alex feel as though she was spying on something private. She was surrounded by other students in her year. Beneath the picture was the list of the names of people in the photo and a title: Ravenclaw seventh year. So her mother had been Ravenclaw; it made sense. The Sorting Hat had implied as much about her mother's character, and from what she could gather, her mother possessed neither the ostentatious style the Gryffindors displayed nor the unqualified consideration of Hufflepuffs. The rest of the page was filled with the pictures of Ravenclaws, and Alex soon learned that not only was her mother a member of the alchemy club and rarely lost in a game of Exploding Snap. Alex leafed through the book, looking for more.

The answer came almost at the end of the book, where there were commemorative pictures taken after the graduation. Alex shook her head. Of course her mother had been a prefect. Then something caught her eye.

In the group of prefects there was a young man. He was standing with the female Slytherin prefect—Slytherins tended to stand by themselves, Alex knew by now—and he was looking straight at the camera without smiling. His dark, deep-set eyes glared intensely and the firm set of his mouth told her that that he did not like to be taken lightly. Slughorn stood between the two prefects, beaming, obviously satisfied the presence of the two prefects standing beside him. The picture unlike the other ones didn't move, set permanently in time without changing. The prefects from other houses smiled brightly at the camera. Alex noticed that Dumbledore was standing with the Gryffindor prefects—so McGongall couldn't have been working in Hogwarts yet. And her mother, standing next to the male Ravenclaw prefect, was for once not looking at the camera, instead looking over at Slughorn—no, the boy standing next to Slughorn. Alex looked at the caption beneath the photo, but she could already guess what she was going to find. She knew the look in the boy very well—knew the eyes, knew the firm set of the lips, knew the stiff stance and the square of the shoulders. Even though she had been told that she had her mother's face, her mother's features—she knew. They were her own.

* * *

Altair Wymond boarded the Hogwarts Express at Platform Nine and Three Quarters for the first time on September 1st, 1949. He did not have siblings who preceded or followed his enrollment at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry nor had his parents nor any relatives had any affiliation with the school. He was sorted into Slytherin and proved himself to be an adequately intelligent student, although his talents seemed to have lied with Quidditch; his in second year he was chosen to play the Beater—a feat not to be overlooked, as he had been merely twelve and other players had at least a few years on him, not to mention several stones. In his fifth year he was chosen to be the Slytherin prefect along with a fellow student Genevra Greengrass. In his seventh year he also served as the Slytherin Quidditch captain and held the first place trophy that the Slytherin house hadn't won in sixteen years. He graduated in the summer of 1956 and that was the last time that Hogwarts would hear of him.

All this Alex had gleaned from various books in the library, but little more. She was sitting on the table in the Great Hall, watching as students around her chattered cheerfully. It was Halloween, and, although Alex didn't realize until she entered the Great Hall to have dinner, the wizards were even fonder of Halloween than Muggles; festive jack-o'-lanterns hung from the places where the candles usually were, gleaming wickedly with their angular eyes and sending sinister smiles down at the students. There were very large pumpkins in front of the head table that the gamekeeper, Hagrid, had grown by himself and on them were carved several important scenes from history regarding Halloween, such as the defeat of Gwua-rumph, the great giant, by the elves who had then gone on to celebrate in their towns and occasion several accidental run-ins with the Muggles. Even Dumbledore's robes were orange with black bat prints, and McGonagall, who never changed out of her dark green robe, had a tiny grinning pumpkin attached to the end of her wizard's hat.

Alex was not in the mood to celebrate, however. She could feel a little piece of paper burning inside her pocket, threatening to singe the fabric and leave a permanent scar on her skin. She felt as though she had been marked in an irrecoverable way; the picture of her father taken after graduation along with several other prefects secretively ripped from the library book and stowed away in her pocket kept reappearing in her mind, enticing her to take it out and examine it again. Even the fact that her housemates ignored her failed to affect her tonight; the usual familiar banter, the inside jokes and looks, words that made little sense to her—she could tune them out, all of them, dig so deep into her isolation that nothing mattered but herself. It was tiring to constantly watch, to absorb information until like a sponge that has too much water in it expand to the point she couldn't anymore and then act as though it was all effortless, the process of learning, and that she couldn't possibly be affected by anything. Instead she thought about the several pictures that she had discovered, the dark gaze of the young man whom she didn't know and her mother's bright, carefree smile that she had never received.

The dinner ended slowly, and Alex began to drag her body, full stomach and all, wordlessly to the Slytherin common room, feeling restless despite the heavy dinner. The name Altair Wymond ran in circles in her mind, creating a large loop she seemed to be in the middle of. Altair Wymond. Altair Wymond. Altair Wymond. They Slytherin boy her mother had run off with. Her father…

"Legilimens," she muttered to the dungeon door. It slid open.

Her body seemed to have a mind of its own. A few minutes later she had found a roll of parchment from her bag and a quill and was sitting on her bed, staring at the blank page. She didn't know what she wanted to say, what she wanted to ask, and her hand began to scribble something, but she could not make a sense of the words.

Her mother would have told her if she wished to, and Alex knew this. If Sophia Wilson wanted Alex to know who her father was, she would have told her. But she didn't, and Alex assumed that this hadn't changed—her mother would not tell her even though she asked. _I found a picture of a man, a man who looks very much like me_ , words stood in front of her eyes, demanding attention the way a blade of grass stands on its own among the countless others. _I think you knew him. You must have. He was in your year…_ She rolled up the letter and tied it with a thin rope and put it in her pocket. She stood up.

The corridors were much colder than she was used to, but she wasn't accustomed to wondering around the castle in the night. Perhaps it wasn't past the curfew—Alex didn't know—but it certainly was past the time when the library usually closed. The corridors were lit only by a few lanterns sparsely planted—strewn perhaps was a better word—within the castle and a view from a large window in third floor revealed that the full moon was up tonight. Alex shivered and then shook herself. It was just the darkness, which could not possibly harm her.

But what hid in the darkness could, and Alex drew herself closer as a violent gust of wind from the West Tower hit her face. She began to climb up the stairs, one by one. It was a long climb, and when she finally reached the top her nose was cold and her hands were firmly glued inside her pockets.

She spotted her school owl immediately. They had bonded of sorts over the months. The owl hooted happily as she approached it, and looked at Alex expectantly.

"Listen, I need you to deliver something, but I forgot—" the owl looked back at her a little more sternly. "Yeah, I know, it's a bit spur of the moment, but—" This time what stopped her wasn't the hooting of the owls, or the cold gust of wind. It was the sound of footsteps. Alex froze in her position. She told herself to relax—it could be anyone. A Slytherin. Alex knew the ridiculousness of the idea. Slytherins didn't come to the owlery after dinner. She slowly turned toward the staircases and her eyes met another pair of eyes that she didn't recognize.

"Well, well, well," he drawled. "Look who it is. A first-year Slytherin." As the boy approached her, Alex realized that he was accompanied by two friends. They all seemed to be at least fifth years or older—she couldn't tell. They weren't Slytherins, that much was obvious. Alex squinted at the badge on the front of their robes. Ravenclaw. Alex swallowed. Ravenclaws in general tended to be much more judicious with the Slytherins as long as the Slytherin house didn't bother them.

From the looks on their faces, Alex surmised that her house had.

"Aren't you a little too young to be wondering by yourself at night?" the boy said. "After all, you could be caught." The boys behind him laughed and Alex discreetly reached for the wand in her pocket. It wasn't there. With an inward groan she remembered that she had put it aside carefully in her bedside table—despite two months that she had spent at Hogwarts, she still treated the wand like a common wristwatch that she had to take off every day before sleeping. She cursed under her breath.

"If you need to send a letter, then send a letter," she said, trying to look less wary than she was feeling. "Don't bother me with your banter." She drew herself up taller, looking squarely at each and every one of them. Their eyes shifted under her gaze and she felt a little triumph boost her confidence.

"A letter?" the boy who appeared to be the leader laughed. "To whom?" he was still drawing in closer, and Alex refused to cower and step back. Now he was standing less than a feet away from her. "You don't seem to know something, _girl_. I don't have anyone to send the letter to. And you know why?" He drew in even closer, his greasy nose now inches away from her face. Alex's eyes widened. The boy's eyes were unsteady not because they were intimidated by her; they were unsteady because they couldn't focus. Wouldn't focus. They were drunk.

She could smell the alcohol from the distance. Alex remembered some of the older boys talking about having some sort of a small, private party during dinner, but Slytherins tended to keep to themselves and most older students didn't pay attention to the younger students so she hadn't given it much thought. Apparently Halloween parties weren't just a Slytherin tradition—and apparently they also involved alcohol. It wasn't the common smell of beer and whiskey that she had once or twice encountered in a restaurant. It was stronger, spicier. And that meant only one thing to Alex at that point: get away.

"And you know who killed them?" He drew in still closer. Alex pulled her face back to avoid their noses meeting, and the boy grinned nastily. "You did. Every single one of you. You think you're so high and mighty, with your Pureblood status. Oh, look, another Mudblood that we get to kill." The last sentence was said in a falsetto, mimicking her voice.

"Listen—" Alex started, but the boy took a big step forward and Alex took a step back involuntarily. Alex clinched her teeth. This was not going well.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said. "But I didn't have anything to do with it. I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm sincerely so—"

The boy laughed. It was a horrible laugh. Bitter. Angry. "Did you hear that, Bertie? She's apologizing." He sounded almost gleeful. "Not so tough without your gang of snakes to protect you, now, are you?"

Alex resisted the urge to say that the didn't have any friends. Clearly this was not the time and she needed to focus. Meanwhile the boy took another menacing step forward and Alex stepped backward and felt something hit her legs. The stone wall. She could feel the cold wall stubborm and immense behind her back. The boy leaned over her, his hands on both sides of her body, sneering. Her eyes widened.

If this was a typical case of bullying than she might have felt a little less troubled. Bullying had happened before in the Muggle school she went to. She had seen them happen, and although most students at her school left her alone because of her 'oddity,' she had enough experience with it to know that the physical pain didn't last forever, and that it was more of the violence itself that was truly frightening, the psychology of it, the assertion of power and dominance over one person by another that would have been disgusting in an ordinary situation. She considered. The odds were stacked against her. There she was, wandless, quite slight and small compared to the boys who were at least a foot taller and much heavier than her, and outnumbered. Her only way of escape was through that doorway, which meant that there was no escape for her unless she could find a way to get past the three boys. They were quite drunk and she supposed that that could work in her favor. But she would have to be fast.

Apparently the boy could tell that she was thinking. He smiled a horrible smile and grabbed her chin with his hand. It was bigger and thicker than she expected and she bit the inside of her cheek to swallow a wave of disgust that threatened to come up from her stomach. "You can try to get away," he said. "But let's have some fun first." Alex stopped breathing, just for a second. Stupid, stupid. Stupid to think that the pain wouldn't last forever and stupid to think that these boys will be satisfied with a few blows with a fist. Stupid of her to think that these boys were eleven, like her.

She reacted. She stomped on the foot of the boy, hard, and when lost his balance, gave him a well-placed knee kick to his groin. The boy doubled over. She pushed him aside roughly and made a run for it as the two others boys advanced toward their direction. The owlery was small, however, and there wasn't a corner that she could run to and no one would be able to reach her. She ran smack into one of the boys and he turned around and held her arms back, his grip stronger than she had anticipated from a drunken person. Alex struggled, also stepping on his feet and trying to elbow into his abdomen, but his grip only tightened and she felt a sharp pain in her shoulders. She stopped struggling. Another boy was checking on the leader, who was now glaring at Alex with glittering eyes.

" _You_ ," he growled.

Alex bit her lips. She'd only made the beast angrier than it need have been.

The boy stomped to where she was standing, his the tip of his wand placed at her throat. "Now we can make this easy for both of us," he said quietly, too quietly. "Or we can make this much harder. Either way we'll enjoy ourselves. Is that clear?"

Alex didn't respond.

"I asked, IS THAT CLEAR?" he shouted, and when Alex didn't answer, he raised his hand and struck her face.

Alex felt her face tense, trying to get the feeling back into her left cheek. It stung. Mostly. But the stinging left her mind when she saw that the boy had now reached for the buttons on her robe that held it together.

Something that had once puzzled Alex about the wizarding robes was that no one wore anything underneath them except underwear. Her mother had explained as much during their visit to Madam Malkin's and said that it was a sensation that one gets used to after a while. Initially Alex had felt quite self-conscious whenever she put on her uniform because she could not feel the familiar tug of the jeans band around her waist or the slight confinement of the shoulders by the shirt. But over the months she had grown used to the free movement that the wizard robes offered, and although the weather was becoming colder, the robes were enough to keep her warm; besides, there was also a winter cloak for wintry months.

She had never wished so fervently for her normal clothes until now.

The chill air raised goosebumps on her skin and Alex struggled again against the boy's grip, but it was too firm. Fortunately—if the word even applied to the situation—the boy in front of her clumsy, groping in the dark and attempting unsuccessfully to undo the buttons. It was dark in the owlery despite the silver light that shone from the full moon and he was also very drunk. Alex grit her teeth and felt her eyes sting, a teardrop just about to form. She forced herself to swallow. She couldn't just give up now.

"Well, isn't this a pathetic sight," she heard a cold voice from behind her. "Taking advantage of a girl. Mudbloods do stoop so low. And you wonder why we call you Mudbloods." The boy in front of her stopped and looked up. His eyes narrowed.

"Black," he spat.

"Me." The boy holding her arms back spun them around so that all of them faced the newcomer. Alex's eyes widened. Regulus Black was standing on the entryway, his wand in his hand, his face expressionless. "Let her go," he said. "Pick someone your own size."

The boy laughed. "Like you, you mean?" The others joined in, jeering at him. Alex had to admit that Regulus didn't exactly present a picture of a grand savior, invincible and fearless in face of any danger. In fact, he looked quite thin and small compared to the grip that just tightened around her forearms.

Regulus sighed and held his wand higher. "As if you could fight me," he said lowly.

The answer came swiftly in a form of a non-verbal spell that disarmed Regulus quickly. His wand fell to the floor and Regulus made a move to grab it. The leader was quicker, however, and stepped on the wand before Regulus could reach it. Meanwhile, the other boy had sneaked up behind Regulus and held him straight up, his arms around Regulus's neck and waist. Unceremoniously the leader punched Regulus hard in the stomach. Alex could hear his sharp exhale before he gasped for breath.

"Not so cocky now, are you?" the leader sneered. Another punch landed on his stomach, and then his face. A small crack rang unmistakably through the circular room and in the background Alex could dimly hear the sound of owls hooting in an odd cacophony that was a mixture of both upset and excited. "Who's laughing now, huh?"

"Coward," Regulus spat out. He looked straight at the boy, still a bit out of breath. "This is the only way you'll fight. Like a coward." He inhaled shakily. "Like a Muggle. That's all you are."

The boy's eyes flashed. Alex could sense what was about to happen before she saw it: the boy getting out his wand again, pointing it straight at Regulus. Regulus was proud enough to look straight at the attacker as it happened, but Alex could see, from the tension in his jaw, the clinch of his fist that was barely visible, that he was bracing himself. The boy raised his wand.

"NO!" she shouted.

The spell was uttered—Alex never learned what it was. The target standing less than a feet away, the spell was emitted from the wand, the energy leaving the tip of its carrier.

It never reached the target.

A strange, golden sphere appeared seemingly out of thin air, glimmering, bubbly, transparent yet solid, enveloping Regulus and the his captor. But the leader boy who was standing away from him was pushed back, as though the sphere was a physical barrier that like a ball expanded and pushed against anything that it came into contact with. It knocked him against the staircase wall, and the boy lost his balance on the last step, teetering dangerously on its edge, his arms flailing around him, his body careening helplessly in the darkness before falling, falling, falling…

Alex could hear his shout, the sound of his body rolling against the stone steps, and the final dull thud that signaled that the boy had reached the bottom of the staircase. The boy who was holding Regulus back let go of him and ran after him. Alex felt the pressure on her arm also disappear and another hunk of shadow disappeared into the staircase. Regulus let them pass, leaning against the wall and wheezing quietly. Alex felt her legs give out under her and she slumped against the stone wall.

They stayed that way in silence for a long time. Alex had crawled up into a ball, holding herself tight against the cold night air, burying her face in the comfort of her thick fabric of her sleeves. Regulus stopped wheezing after a while. Alex heard his footsteps on the floor of the owlery dimly dulled by the droppings and skeletons he stepped on as he approached her slowly but didn't look up.

"Are you well?" he asked, his voice still a little hoarse. Alex nodded into her arms.

Regulus seemed to hesitate. "I'm sorry I wasn't of more help," he said finally.

Alex didn't answer. She could hear his rough breathing close to her and even though she knew that he meant her no harm she wanted to get away, crawl away from all human presence, anything to silence the sound of breathing she heard.

"Merlin, are you crying?" Regulus said, alarmed, noticing her shaking shoulders for the first time. "I—" he stopped for a second. "I was about to say that it's nothing to cry about, but I suppose that it is." He sounded awkward, uncomfortable. Alex couldn't find the voice to tell him off. She was suddenly very tired—tired from the night's incident, tired from weeks and weeks of keeping up, trying to survive in a lonely environment where no one cared, trying to pretend like all this was nothing, nothing at all.

"I have something," he said, rummaging through his pocket. Alex merely drew herself in closer.

"Here," he said, and an unexpected smell of… was that pumpkin? Alex looked up, bewildered. It was one of the mini pumpkin pasties that she'd seen during dinner, not altogether a tart, but still mixed with raisin and cinnamon and some sort of pastry dough that held the mashed thing together.

"I saved it for Edge," Regulus explained. Was there a defensive note to his voice? Alex looked at Regulus's face properly for the first time and saw that there was a flush to his cheeks that she'd never seen before. He was embarrassed.

"He likes the taste of pumpkin," he continued. "Whenever he flies in during breakfast, he always nips at my pumpkin juice. I thought that he might like to try something new." Now Regulus was scratching the back of his neck—like an ordinary, embarrassed eleven-year-old boy. "We don't get these pastries every day, but it looks like the stupid bird has gone off flying again—" he stopped on his track when he heard a strange sound.

Alex laughed. A weak, spiritless laugh rose from her stomach and she coughed, but she kept laughing until it gained a sound. The sound became louder and louder until it rang in the owlery and escaped into the dark night. She laughed until she didn't have the breath to sustain her laughter and when she couldn't she clutched at her stomach which still hurt from the punch and she laughed until she was wheezing like Regulus had.

"No thanks," she finally managed to gasp out before falling again into a fit of giggles. After watching her in bewildered silence he joined in, a laughter so unexpected that it sounded foreign even to his own ears.

"It's quite lovely, though," he said, and they both fell into a fit of laughter again.

They sat there on the stone floor, laughing and laughing and laughing, until there wasn't any air left to laugh and their stomachs hurt from laughing, being punched, or both. Alex wiped the tears from her eyes and blew her nose into her sleeve, careless of appearances now. Regulus was now watching her with somber gravity.

"Thank you," she murmured. Regulus blinked.

"It wasn't exactly a heroic rescue anyhow."

"Still," she insisted. "Thank you."

Regulus didn't answer to this.

"I should be thanking you," he said. "The shield you cast. It saved me. Both of us."

Alex frowned. "The shield?"

Regulus smiled wryly. "It certainly wasn't any of them. It wasn't me, either. I've never seen it before in my life."

"Neither have I."

They fell into a confused but comfortable silence.

"We should get going," Alex said after a while. She stood up wordlessly and Regulus followed her suit. He then looked away. He cleared his throat.

"Your robe," he said succinctly. "I'm going to look for my wand." Alex felt a terrible blush creep up her face and felt the taste of bile rise in her throat. She swallowed again, quickly arranging her clothes. Regulus meanwhile stood up and pocketed his wand.

"Why did you come up here in the first place?" he asked as they descended.

It took a while for Alex to remember why she had felt the need to come up here in the first place. The discovery of the photograph. Her father. Her mother… "I wanted to send a letter," she said, gripping the roll of parchment in her pocket tightly. "It's not important now." Regulus nodded.

"I don't know whether we should go to the infirmary," he said. "It's late, and we'll definitely get detention for being out in the first place—"

"Mr. Black!" a stern voice sharply called their attention. "Miss Wilson, really!" They turned around and saw McGongall standing behind them close to the stairway of the West Tower. Alex bit her lips.

"Twenty points from Slytherin! Wondering around the castle in the dark! It's dangerous—" McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Black, is that blood on your nose?" Alex looked away. She had neglected to mention the fact to Regulus—she suspected he already knew and felt it unnecessary to point it out.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am," he said politely. McGonagall looked back and forth between them.

"And Miss Wilson! What happened to your face?" Her voice grew sterner. "If you two had been fighting each other, truly, I confess myself to be very disappointed. Explain yourselves!"

Alex looked uncertainly at Regulus, who looked back at her. An understanding passed between them.

"It's a long story, Professor, and Regulus needs to see the nurse," and _I need to take a shower_ , she thought, feeling the tiredness press a forceful finger on her eyelids, making her unfocused. "Could we go to the Hospital Wing and talk?"


	6. Chapter 6

Light came first, blinding. The muscles around her eyes contracted, squirmed, blocking the unwelcome intrusion. The stiffness of the eyes. The faint tang of antiseptic emanating. Unfamiliar weight around her body, heat trapped inside. There was a tingling in her shoulders as she shifted around.

The wince came out of her before anything. Alex slowly opened her eyes, unwilling to brace the new day. Something had happened yesterday, something important, but she could not remember what…

"Miss Wilson. You're awake," a voice came. Alex pulled herself up, pushing against the bed so that her upper body could rest against the wall. She was in a bed. She squinted. Hospital bed. That would explain the antiseptic. She rubbed her eyes. They felt far too warm.

Alex let out a slow, painstaking breath. "Professor," she croaked, then cleared her throat, feeling the muscles constrict. She felt something cool press against her hand. Alex looked up.

"Drink," McGongall said. "Madam Pomfrey would agree."

The lady in question suddenly appeared, as though the mere appellation had the power to summon her. Alex watched the woman; she had never been in the Hospital Wing, and had never seen the plump, cheery-faced nurse, neatly dressed in a Healer gown despite the fact that it was weekend.

"Awake at last, are you?" she said briskly, and didn't wait for Alex to answer. "Just as well. I couldn't do much when you were asleep, but now I finally can." She pushed an unknown jar into Alex's free hand and Alex slowly let go of the cup, leaning it against the bedside table. She hadn't the energy to put it up there.

"Salve for your face, dear," she heard Madam Pomfrey say. "Smells like peppermint, too. No need to frown at it—just rub a dab, and it'll be gone before dinner." Alex now did frown—what was she even talking about?

"Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind, I would like to get a chance to talk with Miss Wilson," McGongall's voice was firm, urgent even. She looked at the professor and found her watching her carefully. She looked away and put the jar of salve next to the glass of water. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey stopped fretting around Alex's bed and straightening the sheets.

"But—" she began, but McGonagall cut her off.

"You heard Mr. Black's testimony last night. This is not a matter that can simply be put off." McGongall drew up a stool next to her bed and sat down. Madam Pomfrey left without any argument.

"Miss Wilson," McGonagall said. "How much do you remember from last night?"

Alex looked back at the professor. "We were—um, you caught us near the West Tower and then we came here," Alex said. "I don't remember much after that."

"You fell asleep on one of the beds, and after Mr. Black's explanation it seemed improvident to wake you," McGonagall said. "But what do you remember from before?"

Alex looked down at her bed sheet, wringing her hands.

"Mr. Black told me what he had seen," McGongall's voice sounded gentler. "He said that three boys from sixth year accosted you."

Alex didn't answer.

"He seemed to be aware of their identities and gave me their names; I cannot confirm that without your word," McGongall went on. "I realize that this may not come easily to you now, but the boys are currently under watch of our Head Boy and Girl. The school only detain them without explanation only for so long." Alex decided that the water wouldn't be a terrible idea and slowly held the glass to her lips. Her hands were trembling.

"He—the boy. The leader. He fell from the stairs," Alex managed to say. "I doubt that he's unscratched."

"Yes, Mr. Flannigan did suffer from an injury to the head. A broken clavicle, too, I'm afraid to say. He landed on his shoulders." McGongall, however, did not sound very sorry and for that Alex felt somehow better. "The others are uninjured."

Alex wrung her hands, her fingers intertwined together. "They were drunk," she said quietly. "Was there a party yesterday?"

McGonagall sighed. "There were no official parties. But this is Hogwarts, and the students do have the proclivity to put their creativity into… unwholesome ventures."

Alex swallowed. "The boy, Flannigan, the one with the injury, he said—he said that his parents were dead." She looked up at McGongall. "Is that true?"

McGongall's face darkened. "It is," she said. "It was an unfortunate incident—one that could have been avoided."

"He said that it was done by pureblood supremacists. That's not exactly what he said, but… he thought I was part of them." A frown between her brows that she didn't know how to smooth out appeared. "That I would—I would hunt Muggles for fun. That's just—that's just—"

"Alex," McGonagall said, sitting by the side of her bed. Alex shrunk back in surprise. "The boy—he was drunk, he was upset, and you cannot take what he said seriously." Alex nodded but frowned at her hands, feeling the unsuitableness of the word boy. The boy—he was a boy, a sixth year, McGongall said, hardly a man. A boy shouldn't be doing those things, feeling those things. And yet he was, and Alex couldn't decide if she blamed him for everything that happened. He was drunk, and emboldened by the presence of his gang of friends, obviously, and his actions were unforgivable. But the logic that he presented—it eluded her, and yet the same time she understood. She understood that he was in pain. His decision to take the pain out on her was unfortunate and ill-advised and quite honestly disgusting, but the pain—who had put it there? The Slytherins?

"There were two other boys," Alex said after a long while, her voice quiet. "One of them was called Bertie. I don't know his full name. The other held me back so Flannigan could—so he could." She cleared her throat. "Regulus interrupted them, and he and Bertie struggled for a while before Flannigan punched him and threatened him with his wand."

McGonagall listened without saying anything. It felt like she wanted to say a great deal more but was holding herself back and Alex appreciated this more than she expected to. "And Mr. Black told me that Mr. Flannigan lost his balance and fell," McGonagall finally said. Alex nodded.

"Mr. Saler, on the other hand," McGonagall continued, "he was one of the boys in the Owlery the night before—he told me that you had cast some sort of charm that threw Mr. Flannigan off balance." McGonagall looked at Alex carefully. "It is not that I am trying to condemn you for whatever might have happened, but it is important to tie off loose ends in cases like this."

Alex's knuckles whitened as her fingers tightened around the ball of sheet in her hand. "I didn't have my wand," she said. "Regulus was disarmed. There was some sort of a shield—a glow of some sort. I don't know where it came from. Flannigan was the only one holding a wand."

"It is not unheard of for wizards to use magic when they feel that they are in danger," McGonagall said. "And you have shown me firsthand that you could control your magic—even without a wand."

Alex flushed at the memory of her turning a twig into a pencil in front of a cat. "I suppose it's possible. I don't know. I didn't mean to create a shield. Or throw anyone off a staircase."

McGonagall nodded, and Alex felt as though the inquisition was over. She leaned against the wall again, unaware that her back has been tense the entire time. She felt a wave of fatigue wash over her—but she must have slept through all morning. The sun shining from the nearby window was bright and very high up.

"Does anyone else know?" Alex asked quickly. When McGonagall looked back inquiringly at her, she mumbled, "about this… incident."

Alex thought she could see a trace of pity in McGonagall's eyes and she hated that pity. "The headmaster has been informed. The boys have been isolated from their housemates, so no one should be aware. Mr. Black, of course, was involved. Professor Flitwick was informed, as they were his students to begin with. We thought it wiser not to inform Professor Slughorn. He is not… as tactful when it comes to these things," _or just feign ignorance,_ Alex thought bitterly, but bit back the comment. "And I must write to your mother."

Alex looked up. "You can't," she said immediately.

McGonagall raised her eyebrow. "Oh?" she said.

"She's been worried sick already—it'll just convince her not to let me come here," Alex said in a rush.

"Your mother has the right to be told, Miss Wilson," McGonagall's voice wasn't unkind, but it was firm. "She should know."

"But—"

"She would want to know." The tone of her voice clearly implied that she wasn't going to put up with an argument. Alex looked outside the window. The sky was clear, lovely blue. What an irony.

"And I must inform you that you and Mr. Black will be serving detention with Professor Slughorn every day for the next week," McGonagall continued. Alex looked at her incredulously.

"But Professor—"

"Miss Wilson, you and Mr. Black were outside your dormitory past curfew. The standard punishment for such behavior is detention. If last night's incident hadn't clearly demonstrated to you that the curfew exists for a reason, the detention will." McGonagall paused. "You are to report to Professor Slughorn by seven in the evening on Monday, sharp. Now rest well—Madame Pomfrey had instructed you to stay at least until late afternoon." Without further adieu McGonagll left, her robe sweeping behind her impressively.

Alex saw the small handheld mirror on her bedside table and peered at her reflection. Her eyes had felt warm because they were swollen—from crying probably. On her left cheek was an impressive red mark that suspiciously resembled a handprint, and her the skin around her cheekbone had a pale blue undertone that she had never seen before. Alex wordlessly reached for the salve that Madam Pomfrey had left with her. She was relieved to find that the Hospital Wing was empty save for the one bed at the far corner which had the curtains drawn around it. She hoped the marks would vanish before anyone else saw them.

* * *

Monday afternoon Alex and Regulus left the Great Hall a little before seven and started out for the dungeon. They had wordlessly risen together from the table, having sat side by side during dinner. He had been silently looming over her the entire day, keeping a watchful eye over her during the meals and sitting with her on the same table during Transfiguration and Potions. When Slughorn cheerfully reminded him that he had a detention that evening, he shrugged nonchalantly and thanked Slughorn for reminding him. Alex wasn't sure what to make of the newfound proximity. She did not want him to look at her differently as someone that needed protection, and it felt odd to sit next to someone intentionally. She was, however, aware of of the new looks that Rebecca and Leila gave her during class when they saw Regulus sit beside her without asking. Regulus had not said anything the entire day; in fact, she did not see him on during the weekend. Where he had disappeared off to, she didn't know.

"I'm sorry about this," Alex said. "If it hadn't been for me—"

"If it hadn't been for you I still would have been out past the curfew and would have received detention anyway," Regulus supplied. "It's fine. It's not as if I'm the only one who has to suffer."

Alex smiled thinly. "How are you feeling?" she asked. She remembered what Flannigan had done all too clearly and she had for some reason been unable to ask him throughout the day…

"Fine," Regulus said. "Madam Pomfrey did make me take several potions. They weren't exactly pleasant, but they helped." Alex nodded. They reached the door of the dungeons and Regulus opened the door, indicating that she should go in. She felt a flush creep into her cheeks.

The detention turned out to be less terrible than Alex had anticipated. They were assigned the task of scrubbing the cauldrons used by the fifth years clean while they listened to Slughorn react loudly to the essays that he was grading.

"A fifth year! He should know by now what a bezoar is used for!" Slughorn said.

"It's used to counteract most poisons, isn't it, sir?" Regulus said and Slughorn positively beamed. Alex rolled her eyes at her cauldron, where bits of something burnt and fishy stuck had stuck to the bottom. She just hoped that it wasn't anything that stained.

Slughorn chuckled. "Right again, m' boy, right again…" Slughorn went back to grading and Alex looked pointedly at Regulus, who merely grinned but didn't say anything. Alex went back to scrubbing and soon there was a pile of clean cauldrons on her side of the floor. She wiped the sweat off her brows on her sleeves.

"The Avogarcio's Law of Combination…" Slughorn tsked. "Surely, something elementary couldn't have simply flew past by…" Alex bit her lips and decided not to mention the fact that Slughorn had spent about half of the lecture on Avogarcio's Law on the sparseness of his antique china collection and his fondness for crystallized pineapples.

"It's eight thirty, professor," she instead said. Slughorn looked up from his desk.

"Is it already?" he said wondrously, looking at the clock. "Good gracious me! Look at the time. Well, excellent work as usual, Regulus. I'd say come back tomorrow and finish the cleaning, same time and place—now off you go!" They wasted little time exiting Slughorn's classroom, muttering vague resemblances of 'good night,' and 'thanks.' They started toward the Slytherin common room.

"Did you hear," Regulus asked suddenly, "that Flannigan is going to stay?" Alex stopped on her tracks and looked at Regulus. His face was unfathomable.

"I thought there was going to be a hearing," Alex said.

"There has been," Regulus said. "The Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore decided that they were too young and innocent to be punished so severely by expulsion. Thinks that they need to complete their education and do something in the society." Regulus scoffed. "Typical of him, wouldn't you say? Pretends to be judicious and fair and all, but it just gives him an excuse to shield the Muggleborns."

Alex considered. "Flannigan came up to me in the library and apologized," she said. "You saw it too, didn't you?"

Regulus looked at her incredulously. "And you believed him?" he asked.

Alex smiled wryly. "From his face? Not really. But I don't think he'll be trying something like that again."

"How can you be sure?" Regulus pressed on. "How do you know that, a few months from now, he'll be wandering around drunk again and just looking for the slightest opportunity—"

"I just know," Alex said quietly, and Regulus snorted, rather undignified.

"Shouldn't you be more upset?" he said.

"I _am_ upset," Alex said. "I'm still trying to piece things together." Alex looked down at her hands again, which she had washed several times with soap along with the rest of her body as soon as she was out of the hospital wing. She thought that she could somehow still smell the drunken breath on her skin, on her neck, the grip of the boy on her arm, and subconsciously dusted her robes. She would need to take another shower.

Regulus's lips thinned visibly.

"I was surprised," Alex said brightly, trying to change the subject. "Professor Slughorn seemed perfectly enamored with you. Perhaps just as much as he is with crystallized pineapples."

Regulus chuckled dryly. "He likes me because I'm a Black," he said simply, as though that explained it all. Alex looked at him carefully. There was no proud uplifting of the chin or the confident strut that she had seen from him when he said that. Just plain old statement of facts.

"That's discriminatory, wouldn't you say?" Alex said. "For all he knows, you may not even want his attention."

Regulus smiled—it wasn't a warm smile—but didn't answer and Alex didn't know what else she could say.

They had almost reached the common room. Alex was now accustomed enough to the castle to tell apart the telltale signs: the air was chillier, there were less torches that lit up the walls, and there were fewer doors to be seen. Alex looked up the ceiling; she thought she could see the moss in the nooks and crannies of the stone blocks.

"Well, then," Alex said. "I suppose I'll see you—"

"I need to ask you something." Regulus's tone was low, furtive. He cast suspicious looks around their surroundings before he looked back at her again. His face was grave. Alex frowned slightly, feeling strangely nervous. A question asked with such an uncommonly grave and cautious face could not conclude well.

"Alright," she said, beginning to feel just as cautious.

"Would you like to be my friend?"

Alex stared dumbly at the boy. Just what kind of a question was that?

"I'm sorry?" she said, certain that she had misheard something.

Regulus clinched his fists, apparently irritated—but not with her, as far as she could tell. He looked around again, and he breathed in deeply before he repeated, rather politely, "I asked if you would like to be my friend."

"I'm afraid that I don't follow."

"Friend," Regulus repeated. "I do not mean a housemate, I do not mean an ally. I will not extend my hand out to you so that you can shake it. Surely you see what I mean."

By this point Alex wished that she understood whatever it was that Regulus was saying. Friend. What a strange concept. She did not have any friends back in her old school. She had always been the odd one, the quiet one that other students would rather ignore—a problem that they would rather not address. She supposed that she kept a distant relationship with her classmates—as distant as the relationship she now had with her current housemates, which seemed both lamentable and inevitable at the same time. Perhaps she had never been the befriending kind. She certainly lacked a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that marked a Slytherin a Slytherin. Even Snape, who came from a background that was not typical of a Slytherin, had a certain air about him that immediately designated him as a member of the infamous house. An ally—the Slytherins stuck together. She had to give them that. A Slytherin rarely went against each other. She supposed that when the entire school was on guard against them, the only solution was to huddle closer and defend themselves from the external dangers that lurked in the juvenile world of Hogwarts. But friends?

"I don't think that's how you make friends," Alex stuttered.

"Then how does one make friends?" Regulus countered.

Alex considered. "I don't know," she said. "Either you are or you're not."

"Very well," Regulus said. "Am I or am I not?"

Alex looked at him, the paleness of his face against the dim torchlight, the dark, thick eyebrows, the set of his jaw that remained resolute despite the traitorous beginnings of a pink flush that was appear on his cheekbones. He was… was he nervous? But it had been a very strange proposition to begin with.

"I suppose we could be friends," Alex said. "I don't know much about it, to be honest."

Some of the tension left Regulus's shoulder. "Good," he said, and he sounded somehow much older than the boy who had asked a girl whether she would like to be friends with him. "I don't, either."

* * *

The idea of the newfound friendship still puzzled Alex when she woke up the next morning. They had departed last night in the common room after working on their homework; Regulus had diligently worked to finish his Charms essay comparing the levitating charm and the sinking charm, and Alex had meanwhile plotted the major constellations and stars for each season and found Regulus's name in her list of stars.

"You're named after a star?" she had asked. Regulus barely looked up from his Charms essay.

"Unfortunately." One word was sufficient to describe his sentiments on the matter.

"I mean—it's sort of cool, isn't it?" Alex said, trying to be positive about it.

"It's a family tradition," he grunted. "My grand uncle was named Regulus. And my great-great-great grand father. And his uncle before him. And his cousin before him."

Alex laughed. "Do you think you'll keep the family tradition?" she asked. "Name your children after a star?"

"It's not as romantic as it sounds," Regulus muttered, a strange look on his face, as though the word 'children' did not bode well with him. "'Sides, I'm the second son—I won't be obligated to do that. That's Sirius's job. Although I do appreciate his name," he grinned a little, as though the countless name puns that Alex had heard in her two month at Hogwarts made the odd naming system all the worthwhile. They fell back into a familiar silence.

"The differences in the gestures for the two spells," Regulus muttered under his breath, engrossed in his essay, and Alex studied him curiously. Regulus was pale, much paler than his brother, and his features were, as she had noted when they first met, softer, gentler, despite the impassive expression he always wore. Regulus was, from what she could gather from her observations alone, hard to irritate, reasonable to the point of being frustrating, and had the penchant for giving food to tiny owls that were quite useless in delivering mails. He concentrated on his essay with what seemed to be a fair amount of enthusiasm and fondness for the subject, which was not what Alex had seen in her classmates. They were eager to learn magic, use it like they had seen the adults do, quickly learn spells and other tricks that would make them look accomplished. Alex could understand their impatience—she had felt it sometimes, writing a ten inch essay about the dozen different uses for broomslang skin—but she also found it fascinating and novel enough that she could engage in her studies without complaint.

"Shall we go to breakfast then?" his voice in the present shook Alex out of her reverie and she looked up from her position on the couch in the common room. She had woken up early and had been reading by the lamplight _Hogwarts: A History_ that Remus had lent her about a week ago after a Defense class. Knowing how much he was attached to it, she wanted to give it back to him as soon as possible. Alex managed to stand up and put the book into her bag.

"I just remembered," Alex said as Regulus held out the Common Room door for her. She exited and Regulus followed her. The morning air felt damp and stuffy in their noses in the dungeons.

"What?"

"I never properly apologized you for what happened at Ollivander's."

Regulus waved it carelessly away. Alex noted for the first time that these gestures he made were in fact quite graceful, however careless they were intended to be. As if the grace was ingrained in his behavior. "The mishap with the wand? It was nothing. Forget about it."

"I didn't really know what wands could do," she continued. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, I wanted to ask you about that," Regulus said casually, but she could feel how he was carefully watching her, just as he had watched her in Ollivander's shop, analyzing her every reaction and trying to come to some sort of a conclusion. Alex rubbed her elbows self-consciously.

"What?" she said.

Regulus shrugged—again, another careless gesture that seemed intentional and graceful. "You looked like you had no idea what magic was," he said.

"I didn't."

"And that you had no idea who I was. Or my mother, at any rate," he continued.

Alex exhaled loudly and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, why does every Slytherin expect everyone to know who they are? Are they just stupid, or are they so full of themselves that they can't even see that other people have their own lives?"

To her surprise Regulus laughed quite heartily at this, but quickly grew somber as they passed by several students from other houses. "The wizarding community is very small, especially in Great Britain. I suppose it being an island makes people brush by each other more often," he explained with an unexpected amount of patience and good-humor. Alex didn't know why. They reached the Great Hall and got settled across from one another and started to pile food onto their plates. Regulus, predictably enough, started by filling his glass with pumpkin juice.

"Can I ask you something, then?" Alex said.

"All right."

"Flannigan, he—" at the mention of her attacker's name Regulus sat a little stiffer but didn't say anything. "He said that a bunch of purebloods attacked his family."

Regulus said nothing and Alex figured that she should continue.

"Is that true?" she asked.

Regulus looked at her with an unnervingly still gaze that he had. "You assume that I know about every action that every pureblood does?" he asked after a while.

Alex flushed, feeling oddly guilty, as though she had unwittingly accused him. "McGongall said that you knew their names," Alex said quickly.

"I pay attention to people around here. It's nothing criminal." Regulus said cooly. Alex swallowed her eggs with some difficulty and eyed the jar of milk that stood in the periphery of her vision, Regulus's precise way of buttering his toast, the din in the Great Hall that was only bound to grow louder as more students piled in from their slumber.

"Is it true, though?" she asked after a while.

Regulus hesitated. "His parents were killed and the perpetrators were pureblood wizards, yes," he said.

Alex grabbed an apple from the nearby basket and began to turn it in her hand over and over again. "It's just that," she paused. "It's just that you're a—"

"Yes?" Regulus said, arching his eyebrow.

"I mean, you're from a pureblood family," Alex said it like it was a question.

"That much is obvious," Regulus said.

"And, I dunno, everyone thinks that Slytherins are responsible for every bad thing that happens to them—" Alex continued to fiddle with her apple. She found that she couldn't look at Regulus straight in the eye and the feeling made her feel guilty for even having brought up the subject and despite the fact that she felt like she needed to pursue the subject and put an end to a question she felt like she was walking on thin ice, a dangerous territory.

"I know the question you're going to ask," Regulus said unceremoniously. "And no, my parents weren't involved in the attack."

"Oh," she said, feeling the tension leave her body a little. She stopped fiddling with her apple.

"Do I believe that Muggleborns like Flannigan should be admitted to Hogwarts?" Regulus went on, as though he also had something that he wanted to get out of his system, as though there was something that they needed to clear up before their contractual _friendship_ went any further—just as Alex had. "It's a difficult question, isn't it? The pureblood society—the wizarding society in general, if we're to speak more broadly—are still arguing over the question." He chuckled humorlessly. "To be honest, I believe that every magic should be appreciated in whatever form it takes. Magic is a gift. It would be a waste to ignore it because we happened to find it in less than conventional… creatures. I'm not just talking about Muggleborns. I also think the house elves, goblins, werewolves, vampires, centaurs, all of them, they should be… they're all overlooked. And they shouldn't be. Even trolls—well, maybe not them," Regulus wrinkled his nose. "They're quite smelly."

"You called Flannigan… you know what," Alex said, unwilling to say the derogatory term on a breakfast table, with the sunlight shining through the windows and students laughing and enjoying their food.

Regulus arched his eyebrow again, looking at her like a child who couldn't understand the difference between black and white. "Do you expect me to treat a cowardly scum who took advantage of a defenseless girl smaller than him for more than what he is?" he asked. Alex didn't answer.

"As I was saying, I don't think Muggleborns themselves are necessarily _bad_. I actually do think that they have a way of… making the wizarding society more colorful. Some of them in fact bring in a fair amount of talent. All magical creatures can contribute in some way. House elves, for example—they can apparate and disapparate from places that normal wizards can't even imagine. But the Muggleborns—I do think we need to take them with a grain of salt. They have different ideals, different way of thinking. I suppose that's inevitable, coming from a different background. But that doesn't mean that we should blindly embrace them and welcome them into the community. They can be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Alex said skeptically. She herself felt like a Muggleborn sometimes, even though she knew that technically speaking she couldn't be a Muggleborn, because her mother was from a wizard family. But it could also be that her mother came from a wizard family that started out as Muggleborns, which would make her again a Muggleborn. It was not an easy logic to follow, the line that separated Muggleborns from purebloods. "They hardly know any magic when they start out. All they try to do is try their hardest to fit into the new community."

"And they bring in their non-Magical relatives," Regulus said. "The International Statute of Secrecy was written for a reason. It was to protect our presence against the threat from the Muggle community. A long time ago we lived amongst them, and look what happened—violence. They couldn't stand the fact that we had magic and they didn't. Simple logic. It's jealousy. The Muggleborns flagrantly violate this law left and right and expect us to feel safe. It won't work. Either completely become a part of the wizarding community or stay away—that is the best solution for both parties." By the end of this little speech Regulus's eyes were flashing. It was obvious that he had put quite a bit of thought into this. Alex scrutinized his expression, but only found sincerity. He truly believed in what he was saying, that magic is worth treasuring in all forms, that the pureblood wizard are threatened by the presence of Muggles who wish them harm.

"But think about it," Alex said. "Wizards can use magic. Muggles can't. They wouldn't stand a chance if you go into a war. How can Muggles ever pose a serious threat to the wizarding society?"

"You haven't heard the stories I heard," Regulus muttered darkly. "They used to capture little wizard children and tried to force magic out of them to see if they could get some of the magic themselves. It came close to downright torture. There are even rumors that they drank the children's blood to harness his powers. Of course adult wizards can defend themselves, if they are not caught unaware. But it has been know to happen. And this isn't the Middle Ages anymore. The Muggles—they fought a big war, didn't they? It hasn't been a long time since."

"World War II," Alex said almost automatically. "There were actually two wars."

Regulus nodded. "Yeah, that. It's obvious, isn't it? They killed millions of people just for their own gain. They even developed weapons that can destroy a small country in less than an hour. An hour, Alex," Regulus leaned in, and Alex was too thrown aback by his use of her first name to fidget away. "Any self-respecting wizard would never use his magic to do harm. Violence was never the purpose of magic."

"So what happened with Flannigan's parents was—"

"Some pureblood wizards do advocate violence, and I'm not denying that," Regulus said quickly. "I don't approve of it. I think it's uncouth and beneath what we can do. What we should do." He sighed. "I suppose in their eyes every pureblood wizard is the same and that we all should be held accountable for each other's actions."

"What about bloodtraitors?" the question flew out of her mouth before Alex even knew she had the question. Regulus looked strangely at her.

"Bloodtraitors?" he asked. "What about them?"

"Well, they're purebloods, but they "consort" with Muggleborns," Alex said. "From what you said, it should be fine, right? They're just recognizing a fellow wizard."

"The bloodtraitors are blind fools who believe that Muggleborns are safe and innocent little lambs who they should rescue." Regulus frowned distastefully. "Trust me, they love playing the role of a savior. It strokes and inflates their ego."

"Well, then," Alex said. "How do _you_ think Muggleborns should be treated?"

"With circumspection, naturally," Regulus answered promptly. "They shouldn't be denied their right to exercise magic, of course. But giving them influence in the wizarding society without care for what that can mean to our safety is absurd. We should recognize them for what they are."

"And what's that?"

"Muggles," Regulus said simply. "They may be able to use magic, but they're still Muggles."

"You just said that they're magical, just like the pureblood wizards."

"They are," Regulus said. "But they're still Muggles as well."

Alex stared at him. His logic was both coherent and nonsensical. It was clear that he was fond of magic—loved it, cherished it, and admired it more than most things. His regard for most non-human creatures seemed to stem from his admiration for magic, however, than his admiration for life itself. Muggles, who were not magical, weren't as worthy as magical creatures, and that logic, which placed non-humans even before other humans, made Alex raise her eyebrows skeptically. As she watched Regulus carefully tear a piece of toast into two and chew slowly, she couldn't help but be struck by the amount of unconscious condescension he possessed toward who were not purebloods. His ideas were, as far as she could tell, well-intentioned, if not magnanimous from his point of view, and somehow Alex doubted, from her brief encounter with Mrs. Black, that his mother shared her son's idea that all magical creatures should have the right to exercise magic. _A mongrel_ , she had called her. Presumably Mrs. Black also subscribed to the rumor that Sophia Wilson had run off with a Muggle boy and gave birth to three half-blood children. But it was obvious that Regulus drew a clear line between pureblood wizards and Muggles and Alex could not see the distinction as clearly. She had once been a Muggle, it seemed, and his questions earlier were perhaps asked to confirm this position. But the boy in front of her was now affectionately patting the head of his owl who had flown in from the high ceilings with a morning newspaper—Edge had in the past few months grown up quite a bit and was now capable of doing simple deliveries set on a planned route—and giving him drops of his pumpkin juice and nibbles of his toast and Alex wondered if blood status was what truly set Regulus Black apart from others.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you to all those who had reviewed/followed to this point! I really appreciate it:)

* * *

The days quickly passed into December. The air wasn't just chilly anymore—it was positively freezing, and Alex had to huddle closer to her winter cloak every time she went outside for Herbology class. All this didn't matter much, however, as the first midterms that the First Years were ever to take approached right before their eyes. Alex had taken to reviewing the materials in the library as well as doing her own reading and Regulus joined her more and more frequently as the last week before the holidays drew closer.

"What are the three main rules of transfiguration?" he muttered quietly under his breath not to gain notice of Madam Pince, whose hawklike eyes had gotten positively predatory as the exam week drew nearer.

Alex began to rattle off the list. "The matter cannot be created or destroyed in an isolated system. The matter can grow more complex in a given state. The matter cannot reach…"

"SHHHH!" Madam Pince's shushing was actually louder than their combined whispering, but Alex shut her mouth, contrite, and went back to her textbook.

"I told you that you already know all these things," Regulus muttered. "You don't need to study."

"But do _you_ know all these things?" Alex challenged. Regulus merely raised an eyebrow and Alex felt silly for having asked the question.

"The first quidditch match is this weekend," Regulus said casually.

"Yes, you've mentioned it only a dozen times or so."

"It'll be an educational experience," Regulus insisted. "I can teach you all the strategies."

"I don't mind going, I just think it's a bad idea to skive off studying when the exam's next week."

"It's Slytherin versus Gryffindor!"

"So?"

"So? It's going to be the biggest match of the year!"

"We haven't won the House Cup in thirteen years!"

"Doesn't mean we can't beat Gryffindor!"

Alex rolled her eyes. "How do you know, Regulus?"

Regulus looked around guardedly before reaching into his bag. From the bottom of it he pulled out an ancient-looking leather-bound notebook and placed it on the table with a loving hand. In front of it it read: _Slytherin Quidditch Team, 1954-_

"Regulus," Alex said slowly. "Do I even want to know what that is?"

Regulus's eyes were shining, excitement dancing in them. "This is the record of every player, score, and strategy ever used by the Slytherin quidditch team. I reckon it's a bit of a new tradition, but it's brilliant. It's bloody brilliant." Alex looked at Regulus strangely. Regulus was not one to use expletives in daily conversation unless the situation merited the usage of the said expletive—which was rare, if not ever.

"Look," he went on excitedly, opening the book and pointing at a chart. "There's the list of player's names for the first game in 1954—against Hufflepuff, the poor duffers. Bulstrode, Downey, Downey, McMillan, Nott, Selwyn, Wymond. Wymond's the captain. Slytherin won hands-down, 70-340. But that's not the best thing. Look!" Regulus's impatient voice waved at the next two pages. "Isn't that bloody amazing?"

Alex peered over the book. On the page was a simplified drawing of the quidditch field, but a few seconds after Regulus opened the page the drawing seemed to grow from the page, becoming three-dimensional. The three hoops stood at the ends of the field impressively, and fourteen flyers, designated by miniature broomsticks with different colors and names attached to them, took off from the ground from their respective sides. As she watched, the tiny broomsticks with names zoomed and moved, passing back tiny balls drawn to scale, until the brooms paused midair for a moment. A line seemingly from nowhere traced the route that the players took in a complicated pattern to show how the players moved before the game resumed again. Alex watched, transfixed, and Regulus grinned knowingly before he tapped his wand on the page. The simulation shrunk back to the page, and the dots were still moving, albeit only horizontally on the pages. The game paused again and there was again a magical line that traced the pages in green. Then again appeared a scribbling in the empty corner of the page: _Limproom's Triangle. Best when the opposite team's chasers are closer together in the middle. Drawback: Downey's broom defective_.

Alex squinted at the scribbling. It was by no means by a neat writer, and the scribbling looked more like scratching. The same handwriting had been used for the chart and the front cover of the book.

"What on earth is this?" Alex asked in hushed voice.

"Best thing ever invented since Merlin's soggy socks, obviously!" Regulus was almost yelling.

"SHHHH!" A reprimand came from Madam Pince. They both looked down and remained quiet until Madam Pince passed by.

"But who wrote this?" Alex's voice sounded strange to her own ears. Strangled.

"It says in the foreword, here," Regulus flipped to the front page of the notebook. " _As the new captain of the Slytherin quidditch team… having witnessed the sorry attempts by the predecessors… designed and crafted… for the benefit of future quidditch players to come._ Signed: _Altair Wymond._ And I'm sure I saw his picture somewhere…" he began to leaf through the notebook, and cried out triumphantly when he found what he was looking for. "Here it is—what's wrong?"

Alex had been staring, no glaring, at the notebook for the entirety of Regulus's dreamy reading of the passage. When she heard the question Alex looked up to find her friend's face oddly open and concerned. Alex shook her head.

"It's nothing."

"Well, this is the picture of the Slytherin team from 1954-55. That's Nott right there—you can sort of see the family resemblance, and Wymond-" Regulus stopped in his tracks. Looked up at Alex. Looked down at the picture. Looked up at Alex again. Looked down again at the picture. A short silence.

"Oh."

Alex didn't say anything. Regulus cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Have you—have you known all along?" he asked.

Alex swallowed. "Not long enough," she said. "I found out the day… on Halloween. That's why I was in the Owlery. I wanted to ask my mum about it, but then-" Alex breathed in with some difficulty. "You know what happened."

Regulus nodded.

"I thought about looking into him," Alex said. "But I didn't have many leads aside from his name." She looked at the picture from the first time. Altair Wymond was younger than she had seen him in his graduation, and this time he was grinning widely, proudly holding the quidditch cup in his hands. The other Slytherin players were also smiling, whooping, celebrating, but Alex's eyes focused on him, his smile that felt altogether familiar, the crinkle of the eyes, the lift of the lips.

Regulus looked away for a second, as though he wanted to give her privacy. Then he looked back at the notebook. "Well, from what I could gather, he was bloody good at Quidditch," he said, as though that was the most imperative thing about him. Alex laughed weakly.

"How did you even find this book anyway?" Alex said. She didn't like the awkwardness that had settled between them because of the topic and Regulus perked up at this, excitement again gleaming in his eyes.

"In the beginning of the year I asked Lucius if I could look around the quidditch storage room—you know, First Years aren't allowed to try out, and I wanted to get to know the place if nothing else. The school brooms are quite dismal, but there were a lot of used balls and quidditch manuals that students hadn't bothered in years. The book was on the bottom of the pile." Regulus's eyes shined, transported to the past by the memory alone. "I reckon that the book hadn't been passed on to the next quidditch captain in years, but somehow they're all there—all the games in the past fifteen years. I think the notebook's enchanted to take down notes when the captain didn't."

Alex reached out for the notebook and Regulus didn't argue. She looked at the scrawly handwriting, the tiny notes jotted down next to several diagrams, photos of the broomsticks and players, tracing over them with her fingers. "Do you think he made this entire thing?" she asked. "Drawings and all?"

Regulus looked at her. "He's the only person on there, right?"

Alex didn't answer.

"In any case, I wanted to make an addition to the notebook. That thing's been neglected far too long and there are actually several new moves that I can update to make it more up-to-date," Regulus said. "So I'm going to the game this Saturday. Are you coming?" Alex nodded, still looking at the notebook.

"Hey, Regulus?" she said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Can I keep this notebook? Just for a while," she hastily added at his alarmed expression, as though the thought of parting with it brought him physical pain. "To look over it. You can have it back anytime you want."

"All right," Regulus said, and they lapsed into silence. Alex dropped the notebook to her lap and it stayed there the entire time as they finished their homework for the week.

* * *

Alex was lying on her bed, flipping through the notebook. It was obvious when the actual recording ended and magic took over; there were ink splotches and smudged letters in the entries written in the first three years. Altair Wymond was not a neat writer, and this knowledge brought some comfort to her. Her father—she didn't know if he was even alive or dead—once had a messy handwriting.

It seemed that he was also quite adapt in his position as the Keeper. One diagram of the game that was particularly exciting had been the last game between Slytherin and Gryffindor in his Seventh Year. Alex watched as he deflected some deft attacks from the Gryffindor Chasers, moving adroitly and cleverly, feinting to confuse the Chaser and even directing to ball to where he wanted it to go. Alex stared at the tiny broomstick with the name Wymond written above it. That was all she had of him.

She heard the dorm room door open and quickly closed the notebook, hiding it under her pillow and grabbing the _Hogwarts: A History_ on her nightstand. Rebecca and Leila entered, chattering animatedly, and Alex nonchalantly flipped through the section about hidden rooms and passageways built when Hogwarts was still used as a fortress as well as a school.

"Alex, are you going to the Quidditch game tomorrow?" Rebecca asked, and Alex looked up from the book, surprised.

"Uh—yeah. Yeah I am. Are you?" she asked.

Rebecca nodded enthusiastically, and Leila said, conversationally enough, "You should come with us, then."

"I—alright," Alex said without brooding over it, feeling uncomfortable. Leila shrugged.

"Cool," she said.

"I didn't realize that you liked quidditch, Alex," Rebecca said, sitting on the foot of her bed, and Alex tried not to let her discomfort show on her face.

"I don't know much about it, to be honest," she said. "I figured I should get to know it better." Rebecca nodded.

"Quite honestly I don't know much about it either," Rebecca said. "But my brother's really fond of the game and I've seen him play with his mates a couple of times over the summer."

"I wouldn't expect much from it, if I were you," Leila said darkly. "This year's team's a joke."

Rebecca whipped her head to Leila's side. "Don't say that!" she said.

Leila shrugged again. "It's true," she said. "They keep changing the Seeker every year. Malfoy isn't half bad as the captain, and Flint—he's third year—is quite good as a Beater along with Montague, but the Seeker's a second year who doesn't know what he's doing."

"How do you know all this?" Alex asked in amazement.

"My brother's the new idiot Seeker,' she said.

"I just think he's more of a Chaser," Rebecca said. "That's what Greg—my brother—says anyway."

"Is he also on the team?" Alex asked.

"Oh no. He didn't make the cut," Rebecca said. Leila gave Alex a knowing look and Alex bit back a smile.

"Maybe next year the lineup won't be so bad," Leila said. "I would try out myself if they allowed it."

Alex frowned. "Why wouldn't they allow you to try out?" she asked. She remembered the first flying lesson, when she had stood next to Leila with her broom. She had been a decent flyer, or so had Alex thought…

Leila looked at her if she was stupid. "'Cause I'm a girl, obviously," she said.

"That doesn't make any sense," Alex said. "I thought there were girl players at Hogwarts."

"There are," Rebecca said, examining her nails. "Just not in Slytherin."

"Why not?" Alex asked.

"Because our house is full of self-important prats? I don't know," Leila drawled, and now Rebecca rolled her eyes and gave Alex a knowing look. Alex looked confusedly back at her and Rebecca mouthed _boy hater_.

"But like you said, I think next year's lineup will be superb," Rebecca said animatedly. "The keeper and two chasers are seventh years and they won't be here next year. Maybe Greg will make it the that time. And Regulus Black is quite good, too. He'll be allowed to try out next year." She giggled. Leila rolled her eyes.

"Is he really that good?" Alex asked curiously. Regulus had received some praise from Madam Hooch during their flying lesson, and had consequently gotten some nasty looks from James Potter for it.

"He's adequate," Leila said, sounding bored.

"He's brilliant," Rebecca said simultaneously. "He's really fast, and he can maneuver like no one else can-"

"He's small and light. And he has a good broom. He would have to be an idiot not to be fast," Leila shot back.

"He's not _that_ small," Rebecca defended him but Alex had to admit that while Regulus was on the taller side he wasn't exactly bulky.

They continued to bicker and Alex sat watching them from her bed. Ever since Regulus and she had become _friends—_ by which it meant that he sat with her during meals and classes and sometimes went with her to the library to study, which he apparently _didn't_ do as often with other boys in his year—the two girls in her year had been more accepting of her presence. This was the first time that they had engaged in a longer conversation, but they were less wary of her and didn't stop talking whenever she entered the room. Even the boys seemed more interested in her—or, at least, aware of the fact that there was someone named Wilson in the Slytherin house—with the exception of Snape, who treated her the same way he'd always treated her. And that was fine by Alex, who preferred his cool constancy to the others' incomprehensible change in attitude. Regulus, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the changes, or at least pretended to be so when she had mentioned it to him a couple of days ago.

"They're still the same people," he had said cryptically before going back to his newspaper.

The next morning the three girls left the dorm room together, a new development which Regulus seemed rather disgruntled at. Or that's how Alex had interpreted his lips pressed unmistakably together as he held the entrance door for them. Alex wondered if his impeccable manners—whatever he may have said about other boys at school who were rowdy, stupid, or mean, he never touched on the girls unless he had to—had something to do with the fact that there were no female players in the Slytherin quidditch team but Regulus didn't say much on their way to the Great Hall and Alex didn't feel obliged to bring it up.

"Did you bring the notebook?" he asked under his breath at the breakfast table, reaching for his pumpkin juice. Alex nodded.

"I wish you hadn't brought _them_ ," he muttered darkly. Alex looked at him questioningly.

"They asked if I wanted to come with them and I said yes," she said. Regulus answered by shoving a large forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Rebecca seemed quite keen with you," Alex said quietly, raising an eyebrow at his his direction. "She said you were good at flying. Brilliant, in fact."

"That's hardly a new development," Regulus snapped. Several other students looked at his direction curiously and Regulus waved them off.

"Which part? The keen part or the brilliant part?" Regulus's scowl deepened and Alex felt odd enjoyment at his reaction.

"Excited for the game, Black?" the question came from Marcus Flint, a Second Year Chaser. Regulus grinned.

"Naturally," he drawled. Alex looked at Regulus, who only gave her a blank look.

"Feeling the house spirit, I see," Flint nodded at Regulus's gray scarf.

"A lucky coincidence," Regulus answered. "Good luck in the game—we can't possibly lose."

Flint grinned back, showing far too many teeth for it to be called friendly. "We'll crush them," he said. Regulus nodded and went back to his breakfast.

The stadium was filled with cold morning air when they arrived and the seats which were higher up were only colder. Regulus had discreetly grabbed a jam jar during breakfast in which he put a small magical fire and they huddled close to it, shivering in the chill of the December air. Next to her Rebecca sat, rubbing her hands together insider her mittens, and Leila was making a bet with other first-year Slytherins.

"Of course Flint's going to fall," she retorted. "He hasn't the sense of balance to keep him on the broom for five seconds." Leila was the only one who seemed to be betting against the Slytherins and Alex watched, amused.

"Watch what you say, Parkinson," Rosier said. "Might just make you lose."

Leila huffed. "I'd like to see you try to stop me," she said. "Besides, it's obvious. Gryffindor has Wood and Bell. They're strong Beaters." Crawford Wood and Johnson Bell were Seventh year Gryffindor beaters and from what Alex could gather from Regulus's slight grunt were quite good at their positions.

"Flint's not worth talking about, let's move on to Malfoy," Avery said loudly. "Any bets that he'll score the first goal?"

"Second," Leila said just as loudly.

Next to her Regulus rolled his eyes. "You'd think they would be more considerate toward their own team members," he said.

Alex grinned. "Any bets, Regulus?"

Regulus considered, all seriousness. Alex shook her head in exasperated amusement. "Flint will probably fall off at one point," he said. "He's a good flyer, but he's not a chaser. Just because he's good with handling balls doesn't mean he can withstand the speed. He's more of a Keeper. Lucius will probably be fine, but I wouldn't count on him doing anything until the third or the fourth goal."

Alex now rolled her eyes. "I think you spent too much time in the quidditch pitch," she said.

"I like quidditch," Regulus said.

"I know, but you're not even on the team."

The game certainly could have gone better. By the end every face in the Slytherin stand was dark and muted, and they rose without comment after the game. Even Alex, who was not particularly involved in the game and the house rivalry, felt drained and exhausted after watching Flint fall off the broom not only once or twice but three times and Leila's brother break his shoulder by throwing himself at the Snitch without calculating what that would mean for his body which was suspended about ten feet off the ground. He didn't even catch it.

"What does it say?" Alex said tiredly, rubbing her eyes and digging her legs to one of the armchairs in the more comfortable sections of the library.

"Not much," Regulus said, looking intently at the notebook. "The game's already on there. Hold on, it misspelled Parkinson," he dipped his quill in his ink bottle before trying to scratch out the misspelling. Alex watched from her seat.

"Huh," she heard, a crease between his eyebrows. Alex sat up straighter.

"What?"

"Look," Regulus said, holding it up. Alex peered at the notebook and saw the words Regulus had written disappear.

"Do you think it's some sort of a charm?" Alex asked. "Maybe it's to prevent other people from writing on it."

Regulus's brows furrowed. "Maybe," he said. "Hold on—something else is appearing…" Alex drew closer to the table and the two watched as words appeared on a blank page in the same messy handwriting. _And you are?_ It said.

Regulus looked at Alex, who looked back uncertainly. "Should we write back?" he asked. Alex frowned.

"I don't know," Alex said cautiously. "You don't think this notebook is jinxed, or something, do you?"

Regulus considered. "I don't think so," he said. "If it was dangerous it wouldn't have been abandoned in the equipment room, don't you think?" But Alex hadn't the time to respond that perhaps it was exactly because no one wanted to deal with the notebook that they had thrown it away but before she could say so Regulus raised his quill again and wrote, _My name is Regulus Arcturus Black._ His words slowly disappeared from the notebook again.

 _You're not the captain_ , the notebook said. _You're not even on the team_. Regulus looked faintly annoyed at this.

 _I may be next year_ , he wrote. The notebook didn't respond for a while.

 _Who scored the third goal in the last game?_ The book suddenly asked.

 _Urquhart_ , Regulus wrote.

 _What is the best strategy when two chasers are far away from the field and the only remaining offensive is surrounded on both sides by beaters?_

 _Slip Hee's Drop._

 _What is it called when two beaters go after the same bludger?_

 _Marissa's Kiss._

 _Which team won the 1966 Quidditch World Cup?_

 _Australia._

The book didn't respond for a while again. _Really?_ It finally said.

 _Unfortunately_ , Regulus wrote.

 _Well, then, Regulus Arcturus Black_ , the notebook said. _Best of luck to you next year. I hereby grant you the position as a permanent editor._ Then the book remained silent and when Regulus crossed out Parkinson's name and rewrote it it did not protest.

Regulus looked up from the notebook, looking rather impressed. "I've got to admit," Regulus said. "Altair Wymond, whoever he was—he had a style."

* * *

The exams went much better than Alex had feared and when she stepped out of McGonagall's classroom—her last exam—Alex felt her footsteps ten times lighter than they had been a while. Even Regulus, who had seemed unfazed throughout the entire process, appeared more cheerful and talkative than usual during dinner. It was now the morning of their departure and they were on Hogwarts Express, having marched through snow and the forest to board the train. She had found an empty compartment near the end of the train and they were sitting in relative silence, watching the snowy landscape pass by.

"Do you have any plans for the holiday?" Alex asked. Her mother had sent her a letter a couple of days before that she'll be at King's Cross to pick her up and Alex tried to contain the excitement at seeing her mother again. But at the corner of her mind she also feared the reunion—what if Alex had changed too much, or what if it turns out they can't talk the way they used to, what if…

Regulus frowned. "I think Mother wants us to go to France during the holiday," he said. "It's certainly warmer there."

Alex nodded.

"The holidays won't be so bad," Regulus said, smiling a little at her, but it felt like he was saying that for his benefit as well.

"Sirius?" she asked.

"Sirius," he nodded.

"I thought you said that Sirius usually gets his way with things because he's the first son," Alex started tentatively. Regulus smiled humorlessly.

"He does," he answered. "I'm just hoping that he keeps his mouth shut about Mother and her ideas. Not everyone is going to think exactly the same way, but Sirius can't seem to accept that."

"Well," Alex said, "Their ways of thinking are more than just a little bit different."

Regulus sighed. "I know that," he said. "But he could try to behave, at least. Mother isn't young anymore, and so isn't Father. And it's the holidays, of all things."

"There you are!" Rebecca's cheery voice rang through the compartment as the door opened and her face poked through. "I was wondering where you'd disappeared off to." Alex couldn't tell if the words were directed at herself or Regulus.

"Hey Alex," Leila said, glumly settling herself next to her. Alex nodded.

"Parkinson, you still haven't paid up—oh, hi, Regulus," Rosier appeared by the door and Regulus nodded back.

"Rosier. Avery. Mulciber. Snape," he said. "My, my. You brought the entire gang."

The rest of the train ride turned out to be much louder than Alex had anticipated, and she thought Regulus looked a little tired as well as he played the wizarding chess with Avery. Regulus, it turned out, wasn't half a bad chess player, although Avery insisted that it was because of his interest in Quidditch than actual talent, which earned him an amused look from his opponent. Meanwhile Alex listened as Rebecca explained her relatives and who were and were not visiting this year. When the trolley witch came by their compartment, everyone rushed to buy something. Alex remained in her seat and Regulus waited until everyone's had had their share of practically pillaging the cart.

"Here," he said, tossing Alex a box of cauldron cake. Alex felt her face grow red despite the cold outside.

"It's fine," she said, getting ready to give it back to him.

"Take it as an early Christmas present," Regulus said, and went back to watching the game between Snape and Mulciber. Alex grudgingly peeled open the box and took a bite out of the cake, aware of the odd gaze from Rebecca's direction.

The rest of the train ride went proceeded without hassle and Alex felt a sense of belonging and out-of-place-ness at the same time when she put on her older clothes back on. Her jeans which used to be slightly too long for her fit her just right and her sweater which she had worn to tatters stretched around her shoulders tightly and Alex fiddled with the sleeves of her coat, nervous. Other students hadn't bothered to dress out of their school robes except for Regulus and Snape, who mumbled something about living near Muggles. The train came to a stop near the evening and platform Nine and Three Quarters was full of parents and families dressed warmly in winter gear. Alex peered from the compartment window but she couldn't find the familiar face among the crowd.

"Happy holiday!" Rebecca waved cheerfully and Alex waved back. Leila nodded at her in farewell and Alex raised her eyebrow. Leila smirked.

"Merry Christmas," she heard Regulus close behind her and when she turned around to look at him he grinned slightly and laid a hand on her shoulder before walking away to an imposing figure of a woman she had once seen so long ago in Ollivander's wand shop. Alex watched him go and soon they were joined by Sirius who didn't look as happy as other students in the station and the family soon left.

"Alex!"

Alex looked around and finally found her. There, at almost the end of the platform, separated from the bodies of family and friends and relatives and laughter and merriment her mother stood by herself, her arms outstretched toward her. Alex couldn't tell if she was walking or running or how she even got there but she was in her mother's arms laughing and smiling and perhaps there were even tears in her eyes but she couldn't tell. She breathed in the familiar scent of something woody and vanilla and remembered all the holidays they had spent together by themselves in the little house with a very small tree and presents and a holiday meal that they shared and sometimes she had decorated the little cookies she baked with her mother and they were happy in her childhood memory and Alex couldn't tell if she would be that happy anymore but it didn't matter. She felt her mother's arms strong and tight around her and Alex squeezed her back and she heard her mother laughing and calling her name and asking her how she was and how the school had been and Alex tried to answer but what she said didn't seem as important the fact that her mother's face hovered in front of her smiling and a little thin and pale but smiling nonetheless and Alex smiled back widely and clung to her mother's side like a little child and they slowly moved from the station to the car dragging her trunk behind them and Alex couldn't remember why she was so excited. She was with her mother again. She was home.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex leaned her head against the windowpane, feeling the coldness of the outside seep into her skin, the movement of the train occasionally rattling her skull against the hard glass. She saw her breath fog up the glass, obscuring the view of the snowy vision outside, but she didn't want to watch the beautiful scenery. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the tiredness wash over her.

The winter break had been pleasant, as pleasant as it used to be, Alex supposed. There was the traditional holiday dinner with chocolate cake and the small Christmas tree in the living room and the opening of presents. But presents—that's where things began to go south.

" _Who are these from?" her mother asked from behind her, holding her own Christmas present._

" _The chocolate's from Leila and the ink bottle's from Rebecca—they're both in my year. The scarf's from Regulus," Alex said, gathering around the wrappers, trying not to look too excited. How long had it been since she'd received a Christmas present from someone other than her mother? She didn't think it ever happened._

" _Regulus?" her mother said. "The Black boy?"_

 _Alex looked at her mother. "Yeah," she said._

 _Her mother didn't answer, instead scrutinizing the scarf as it were poisonous or as if it would somehow suddenly turn into a slithering snake by itself. Alex sighed._

" _We're both in the same year and house, Mom," she said._

" _I know," her mother said distractedly, then cleared her throat, looking sideways at the small Christmas tree. "Alex," she began. "Are all your friends—do you have any friends outside Slytherin?"_

 _Alex considered. "Well, there's Remus," she said. "Remus Lupin. We met on our train ride to Hogwarts. He's nice. He's in Gryffindor."_

 _Her mother nodded. "And… anyone else?"_

 _Alex rolled her eyes. "Most people at Hogwarts don't like the Slytherins, Mom," she said. "They wouldn't like me even if I approached them."_

 _Her mother sighed. "I know that," she said. "I just sometimes wonder… just if they'll make the best friends for you. The friends in your house." Her mother seemed to deliberate on her words more than usual and Alex frowned. "It's nice to have a good relationship with everyone you share your dorm with, of course, but sometimes it's nice to… branch out. Meet different people. I'm just worried that you aren't very happy in Slytherin."_

" _Why would you think that?" Alex quickly asked._

" _You barely talk about your classmates in your letters. You talk about homework and classes but you rarely mention what you do with your friends on weekends."_

" _I study in the library, Mom," Alex said. "Sometimes with Regulus."_

 _Her mother frowned again. "Ah yes," she said. "The Black boy."_

 _Alex looked oddly at her. "Why do you keep calling him that?" she said._

" _He's a Black," her mother said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything._

" _So everyone keeps saying," Alex said. "That doesn't make any sense."_

" _Alex, you've met his mother. Surely you remember what kind of a woman she was." The memory of the tall woman who looked down at her certainly wasn't a pleasant memory._

" _But Regulus is..." she considered. "He's nice," she finally decided. Her mother sighed._

" _Nice," she repeated._

" _I mean, he has some different ideas, but overall—"_

" _Do you agree with his ideas?" the question came sharply and Alex looked at her mother, puzzled._

" _You don't even know what his ideas are."_

" _He's a Black—I can guess," her mother said dismissively. "Well, do you?"_

 _Alex looked down at the box again, surprised and hurt by the assumption. "I don't know," she said. "Half of the time I don't even understand where he's coming from." There was a pause._

" _Something about the Blacks that you should know, Alex," her mother said after a while, "is that they're purebloods. What that means is—"_

" _I know what a pureblood is, mom—"_

" _What that means is," her mother continued firmly, "is that they like their position. They like the money they have and the social standing they have and they will do anything to keep it. I know you have friends now because you're younger, but I just don't want you to be disappointed when you all grow up."_

 _Alex frowned at the box. "We're not that close," she muttered._

" _And you should also know that their views are not shared by the general wizarding public," her mother continued. "It sends a specific message when you start talking like them—"_

" _Mom, I don't believe in blood purity and I don't believe that Muggleborns are somehow inferior. For all I knew I was a Muggleborn. Besides, there are a lot of students at Hogwarts who are smart and who don't come from a wizarding family. But Regulus is the only one so far who has been remotely willing to talk to me on a daily basis and I don't want to stop talking to him just because he's a pureblood." Her answer came out more hotly than Alex had intended and she felt a flush creep up her cheeks. Her mother looked back at her, and Alex didn't want to know what she would find in her face._

The rest of the break had been inevitably tense, and although her mother never broached the subject again, Alex could tell that she was brooding over it. The tension was there during meals around the table, when Alex rode next to her mother whenever they went grocery shopping, when Alex went outside to check for mail—everywhere. Alex knew that she was not just overinterpreting her mother's wariness of Regulus; her suspicions were confirmed when they went back to King's Cross a week later, where her mother had watched over the crowd like a hawk, and her nose scrunched distastefully when she spotted the familiar three black heads bobbing amongst the throng. Alex didn't comment on this but simply sighed, and chose not to go to the Black family to greet Regulus. Instead she chose an empty compartment near the front of the train, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the large empty space. She waved drearily at her mother as the train started and Sophia Wilson had waved back with a little encouraging smile. Alex wasn't entirely reassured.

The trees behind the windows passed in a blur, forming a whirly wall of faint brown bark and branches, and Alex wondered. Her mother wasn't wrong—it would be nice to have friends outside Slytherin, a house united by some common interest that Alex wasn't part of. It would certainly be nice to talk more often with Remus and have longer discussions in the library, but Potter and Black had always interrupted them and made fun of Remus whenever they found him talking with her and soon after Remus stopped approaching her in the library. Alex supposed that she understood—he had his friends in his house who were fun to be around and just _boys_ —but it did sting; hadn't she been friends with him before them? She went through the faces she had learned to recognize through her classes—the entire First Years at Hogwarts. None came to mind as particularly friendly outside those in the Slytherin House. But there was always Regulus.

Regulus Black—the more puzzling part of the problem. They were friends—at least, they had established their relationship formally as friendship and Alex figured that that was as far as it could go for them at the time. One didn't make friends overnight or even over three months. And Regulus in his quaint way had made indications that he didn't mind her company, preferring to follow her to the library instead of spending time with other Slytherins in his year in the common room and exchanging knowing glances during classes with her whenever Professor Slughorn said something particularly insensitive. The girls in their year he avoided like the plague, and Alex could understand a little; they wanted to be friends with him because "he was a Black" and he didn't want to be friends with them because they liked him as a Black. But Alex never got the impression that Regulus disliked being called a Black—quite the contrary. He was proud of it, wore the name the way prefects wear their badges (or, at least, the way Malfoy wore his prefect badge). He believed that there was significance to the tradition that followed the name, and Alex couldn't understand why he would condescend to acknowledge her, whose name wasn't so proudly worn…

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Regulus's voice broke her out of the reverie and Alex realized for the first time that she had been frowning. She sat up from her slumped position and tried to smile at Regulus's grinning face in front of her.

"Hi," she said, feeling shy—she had just been thinking of him, hadn't she? And perhaps not in a way a loyal friend would do.

"Hullo," he said, settling across from her after putting away his trunk. Edge was in his cage, hooting softly, as though it was happy to see her. Alex cringed inwardly—so he was planning to stay. The fact would have made her glad had it not been for the image of reprobation in her mother's eyes that kept swimming in front of her.

"You're wearing the scarf, I see," Regulus said. He was still grinning and Alex was beginning to find this a little unnerving.

"Uh—yeah. Yes. It's—it's really warm. Thank you for the present. Especially seeing as I didn't—" she swallowed, beginning to feel even more awkward than she had. She had not thought to exchange presents with him—didn't know that wizards did exchange presents, and even if they did, that they were in a relationship where people exchanged presents. Not that it was an unpleasant surprise. But apparently that was what friends did. Or perhaps Regulus was just overly polite. There was always that possibility. "I'm sorry that I didn't get you anything," she managed to say.

Regulus waved it off. "It's fine," he said.

"I mean, I did get you _something_ ," Alex said. "My mom and I were buying groceries, and I bought this—hold on—" she struggled to get up and get access to her trunk.

"Really, Alex, it's fine—" Regulus began to say.

"Chocolates!" Alex exclaimed, perhaps a little too dramatically. The grin had finally slipped off Regulus's face and it felt a little better to be back to normalcy except that her voice sounded a little hysteric, even to her own ears. "I figured—figured that you never had normal chocolates. Or Muggle chocolates, as you might say." She thrust the box into his hands, who took it dumbly. "Happy holidays. Or happy belated holidays. I mean—"

"Thank you." Regulus was looking down at the box of chocolates, his brows furrowed, as though he was thinking hard about something. He looked up and gave her a fleeting smile. "I like chocolates. Thank you."

Alex sat down slowly, feeling the panic recede into her. "I thought you might," she said faintly. "Saw you buy half a dozen chocolate frogs on our way back from Hogwarts."

Regulus laughed, looking a little abashed, but nonetheless smiled at her and Alex felt a knot of anxiety within her loosen slightly.

"Oh yeah, I meant to tell you," Regulus said after a while. It was lunchtime, and the trolley lady had already passed by their compartment. Alex was holding her mother's sandwich in her hand, but it felt less uncomfortable than she had imagined it would feel like—quite natural, actually, as she watched Regulus open a bottle of pumpkin juice.

"What?"

"Wymond," he said, taking a swig. "I thought I had seen the name before—you know, from the notebook—so I went through some of the books in the library. Turns out, one of the books was written by a Wymond."

Alex raised her eyebrows. "Don't tell me you know every book there is in your house?"

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn't deny this, and Alex could guess the answer to the question. "It's this," he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his robe. " _Fortresses and Defenses_. Polaris Wymond."

Alex took the book wordlessly. It was old, perhaps older than most books she had seen at Hogwarts. The book seemed to be in excellent condition, however; it was finely bound and covered in leather, its titles engraved permanently in gold. Its spine had a look of an ancient crocodile back, with regular bumps that seemed skeletal. The book was black, and the patterns on the book, although by no means shabby, gave a foreboding feeling. It was in any case not a book of fairytales.

"It's really old," Regulus said after swallowing a bite of his cauldron cake. "The library is divided into sections—so that we can tell when the book is from—and the book came from the time when the ninth Cygnus was still having an affair with his Italian mistress." Alex gave him an odd look. He shrugged. "What? It was the sixteenth century. England admired Italy in the sixteenth century."

"The _ninth_ Cygnus?"

"Well, there are so many first names taken from the constellation," Regulus explained. "I'm lucky, I suppose; my name didn't really come in style until the nineteenth century."

"How do you even know what the ninth Cygnus was doing four hundred years ago?

"Family history," Regulus answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The ninth Cygnus is rather famous in our family, actually. A lot of mistresses, a lot of children. I think he also sponsored several artists and other professionals from around the world. Which would explain why that book is in our library," he pointed at the book. "Look at what's written inside the cover."

Alex opened the book and peered at the yellow parchment. It had not withered, but some of the ink seemed to have lost their clarity over the years. The words, however, were written boldly and strongly enough that it still made sense even now.

" _To preserve and protect what is dearest to our hearts_ ," Alex read slowly, " _the humble servant dedicates this book to her master revealing the most closely guarded secrets of her kin..._ " Alex frowned. "Polaris Wymond. That doesn't make any sense."

"Why not?"

"Because—I don't know. You said that this book is four hundred years old."

"Actually, the affair went from 1517 to 1527," Regulus said. "So about four hundred and fifty years, give or take. The mistress had to go back home because Rome was in danger."

"So it means that the Wymond, whoever they are, have been around for at least four hundred and fifty years."

Regulus considered. "That sounds the most logical, yes," he said. "Unless they're different Wymonds."

"Reg, how many Wymonds are there in Great Britain?

Regulus paused. "Not many. So far we've seen two. And I told you—it's a small community. If there had been Wymonds before, there would have been more records." Alex turned the book in her hand, feeling its weight that felt oddly familiar.

"It's not exactly the most exciting book," he said. "It's about different defense systems of various castles and residences across Europe. I think old Cygnus was trying to build yet another mansion. There's a blueprint at the back of the book—see?—and I think it's the one in Province… although that one hasn't been in use in a while."

"Maybe the Wymonds have been in the business of, I don't know, defense or something like that," Alex said. "She here said 'the closely guarded secrets of her kin.' Her kin could mean family, couldn't it?"

"Or a tribe," Regulus said.

"What tribe?" Alex asked. Regulus shrugged.

"So you think—you think this Wymond has something to do with… with the one you found in the Quidditch storage room?" Alex asked tentatively.

"I can't say with certainty," he answered, "but it's a rather amazing coincidence, isn't it? Both of them seemed to be rather fond of strategies, whether it's defense or Quidditch. And the way they went about writing a book. Some of the illustrations in that book really do come alive and it's chockfull of defensive spells that I've never heard of—and Mother is rather particular that we should learn all of them."

Alex stood and reached up to her trunk, rummaging with some difficulty before finding the old notebook, which was virtually in tatters compared to the book from Regulus's house.

"Her kin," Alex repeated. "Women weren't really going about writing books during that time, if I remember from History of Magic."

"That's the Muggleborn community," Regulus said. "Wizards who have been around long enough didn't discriminate based on gender. There was no need to—witches can do as much magic as wizards."

"Reg, girls aren't even allowed in the Quidditch team," Alex said.

Regulus frowned distastefully. "I admit that even the pureblood community adopted some ideas from Muggleborns whenever they suited their purpose," he said. "But the true purebloods follow the doctrine of equality—we look at magic, not gender." At Alex's skeptical look, he added lightly, "Just look at my Mother. She rules with an iron fist in our household." Alex wasn't convinced, but decided to move on to her next question.

"So do you think she was some sort of a specialist?" Alex asked. "The book feels pretty specific."

"My guess is that it's some sort of family business, what she writes about," Regulus said. "It was common for the heads of wizarding families to pass on their business to their children. It keeps the secret of their success inside the family, you know. There were many families in the sixteenth century who were in the business of apothecary potions. Their works became the basis of our common potion making today, and the progress they made in their fields was spurred on by the competition they presented each other." Regulus sounded like he was reading straight out of the history textbook.

"So she decided to dedicate this book to one Mr. Cygnus Black," Alex said. "I don't suppose that she was only doing it for business. 'The humble servant' and 'her master' and all."

Regulus grinned. "Knowing Cygnus, probably not."

"Shouldn't you be more scandalized?" Alex said. "After all, he was having an affair while having an affair. That doesn't even make any sense."

"I doubt Lucretia, his wife, was exactly faithful to him," Regulus answered. "It has always been a marriage of convenience for the eldest son of the Black family. Still is, actually."

Alex's eyes widened. "So Sirius—"

Regulus nodded. "Sirius already has a fiancée," he said. "Genevieve Bastion. She goes to Beaubaxton."

"Do you know her?"

Regulus shrugged. "As much as I know anyone else," he said. "I think she and Sirius are supposed keep a regular correspondence, although who knows what he's doing nowadays."

Alex looked down at the book in her hands. The subject of his brother always seemed to incite in Regulus an odd mixture of affection, exasperation and resentment and she felt hesitant when approaching the topic. Did all siblings have this kind of a relationship?

"So are you engaged as well?" Alex asked, trying not to sound too nosy. To her surprise Regulus laughed.

"Merlin, no," he said, still chortling. "I'm just here to fill in the role of the profligate son until I'm reformed by some family matters. Or until I go into politics."

Alex smiled at his joke, but looked away, hoping that Regulus couldn't see her expression. Regulus and profligate did not go well together—in fact, it seemed much more suited for Sirius, who was, according to Regulus, supposed to be the perfect Black. And it seemed that, despite his humor, Regulus was aware of this irony, too.

"Well, then," Alex countered, "I suppose I'll be the sidekick who watches your back in case of bar fights. Or jealous lovers."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Regulus Arcturus Black, the next ninth Cygnus," he said. "Sounds like me, eh?" He sighed, his hand rummaging through his pocket. "That reminds me, I have to return something to that prat."

"What?"

"This," Regulus held out an ancient looking silver ring with a complicated pattern that Alex couldn't make out. They looked like runes. "Sirius "forgot" it, naturally, he's supposed to keep it with him at all time. It's the family ring." He stowed it away in his pockets again. "I swear, Sirius can do what he wants, but he could be more considerate when other people are concerned."

"Reg," Alex said cautiously. "What happened during winter break?"

Regulus sighed. "The usual," he muttered "Christmas dinner, another argument—to be honest, neither of them were talking in coherent sentences by that time. Rest of the break was just awkward. But I did spend a lot of time in the library," Regulus ended brightly. "Hence the book. Not bad, huh?"

Alex attempted to smile. "I guess," she said, taking the book from his seat. "Thanks."

Regulus shrugged. "Although I would be lying if I said that I hadn't been looking forward to school," he said. "Blimey, I'd take McGonagall's double period class any time now." He grinned at her and Alex smiled back, because she knew that Regulus wanted her to never mention his previous comments about winter break.

* * *

Although Regulus had lent her _Fortresses and Defenses_ indefinitely, it was not until a week before Easter break that Alex found enough time to actually open the book. Hoping to find some excuse for putting off Flitwick's essay—earning an amused look from Regulus, whose facility with Charms caught even the tiny professor's attention—and other works that professors wished to get done before the break, she had decided to clean her trunk and school supplies before realizing that she had yet to open the book. It was that rainy Wednesday afternoon, therefore, that Alex had propped up her feet on the bed frame before opening the book cover.

The text itself was old, and—despite the Blacks' careful preservation of their library—rather faded. The pages were yellowed and thin, and the letters, all etched in ink, had become pale gray with age. Polaris Wymond's style of writing was, although by no means uninteresting, rather technical and extraneously elaborative at times that Alex found herself skipping a few pages every now and then to get through the book. Like Regulus had said, it was about various mansions and fortresses around Europe. What was surprising, however, was the depth and breadth of knowledge the authoress seemed to possess about each and every structure. She provided rough blueprints for every establishment with notes, side notes, and further side notes that were uncharacteristic of texts written that time. How she even had access to this kind of information, she couldn't figure out.

When she was not being technical, however, Polaris Wymond had the propensity to wander off in a hundred different directions. These parts were surprisingly much more revealing, as she dropped off hints and clues about her family history and sources of her knowledge. Alex transcribed several things in her notebook, hoping to check them in the library:

 _1\. The Wymonds are not from England. P.W. specifically mentions having come from "the midland"—wherever that is. Check: midland_

 _2\. Foreign Elements, Azamat the Younger, circa 1470: useful for spells. Also implied friendship?_

 _3\. The legend of the four? Often quoted with fondness._

Because she didn't know much about any of them, she showed it to Regulus during Potions the next day as Slughorn, stressing the importance of the upcoming finals that were at least two months away, decided to assign them different potions and assess their characteristics, toxicity, thickness, density, weight, color, etc. Watching Regulus drop a few beetle legs which promptly dissolved, she said:

"Reg, do you know anything about the legend of the four?"

" _Not_ toxic," Regulus muttered, scribbling down.

"Reg?"

"Regulus my dear ol'boy, any difficulties?" Slughorn's voice boomed from right behind them and Alex jumped in shock in her seat, promptly scribbling something unintelligible down on her notes. Slughorn seemed intent on Regulus alone, however, and Alex decided to take the matter off his hands so Regulus could concentrate on fending off Slughorn. She grabbed the vial and took a sniff.

"Basic ingredients: dragon liver and parsnip," she muttered. Regulus nodded and scribbled, simultaneously looking up to Slughorn's imploring eyes and smiling in a practiced manner. It resulted in crinkled eyes with an odd grin that seemed too wide to be natural.

"Not at all, Professor," he said. "Alex and I are doing very well by ourselves."

Slughorn nodded approvingly. "Your Potions essays are improving day by day, Regulus! Keep up the good work." He patted Regulus roughly on the shoulders before moving on to the next table, where Snape and Rebecca were both glaring into their desk.

"Look out for him, he's more attentive than he pretends to be," Regulus muttered.

"What does he even want from you?" Alex asked exasperatedly. "Nothing material, I hope."

"Probably another name that he wants to drop into the conversation," Regulus said. Alex made a disparaging noise and Regulus grinned into the vial, swirling it between his fingers.

"The legend of the four," Regulus continued. "I've heard it mentioned a couple of times, but it's a bit of an occult thing, really."

"Reg, we're talking about magic. Everything's occult."

"You're right, I suppose," Regulus frowned as he consulted the color chart and held it out for her to inspect. Unfortunately, the potion changed color in different angles and the lighting in the dungeons was not superb. "What I meant to say was that it's not a widely accepted legend. It's more like a cautionary fairy tale for people."

"Okay…?"

Regulus sighed. "It's one of the many legends that are traced back to the beginning of the wizards. They say that wizards came from all four directions—North, South, East, West. That's why they call it a legend of four points. They got along well for a while before they got into a fight, and they dispersed into the rest of the world," Regulus shrugged. "That's it."

"Well, I was reading _Defense and Fortresses_ yesterday. By that woman from the sixteenth century. She just mentioned it a couple of times."

"It's nothing strange. It was fashionable at that time to quote from legends." Regulus gave her a pointed look. "Which you would have remembered if you had paid attention to Binns' class yesterday."

Alex felt her face flush. "I was paying attention. It's just a matter of memorization and application."

"Sure."

"It's quite obvious the potion's color is teal, I don't know why you would be confused about it."

"Teal. Of course."

"In any case—" Alex cleared her throat. "Do you know anything about Midland?"

"Midland?"

"The Midland?" Alex scratched her head, looking over her notes to see if she had missed anything. "She kept mentioning that she came from the Midland."

"It's another legend," Regulus said. "Historians are still fighting over it. Apparently all wizards once lived in once place and grew apart from there. The place of origin—that's Midland, or Middle Land. Most people think it's somewhere in Asia Minor, although others say it's closer to Central Asia or even China."

"You don't believe it's true?"

Regulus shrugged. "Wizards have been communicating with one another for ages, much longer than the Muggles have been, across the world." He sealed the vial with a stopper. "I think they make good bedtime stories, but I don't know how credible they are."

"Well, I'm going to ask Binns about it after class." It sounded strangely like a declaration.

Regulus gave her a strange look. "That'll be the first for Binns. I'll stay with you. Who knows—he might actually come alive for once."

* * *

After a fifty-five minute lecture on the series of Goblin rebellions that took place between 1830 to 1848, Alex was not ready for another fifty-five minute lecture on the legend of four points or, more accurately, on the value of factual evidence in history and the detrimental effects of legends and myths in a young pupil's mind. Somehow Regulus managed to wrangle themselves out of Binn's grasp during his account as a young man freshly encountering the lure of legends.

"They seem very glorious, talking about heroes in faraway places, but you must remember that human imagination has the propensity to create, recreate, and procreate—"

"Thanks, Professor Binns," Regulus said loudly. "But we have a detention in five minutes."

"Detention?" the ghostly professor cocked his head. "A student cannot miss his detention. Off you go, then." He shooed them with his transparent hands and Regulus and Alex made a beeline for the classroom exit.

"Oh, Mister Black?"

Regulus turned around, his face ashen with dread.

"An impressive job with your last essay. I must say, I see very few students these days who are interested in the actual history of magic." Binns gave Alex a pointed look and Alex decided it would be better to get out of the class. She heard Regulus say thanks as she closed the door.

"That," she said, "is _not_ what I call alive."

"Yes, and we now have factual evidence to prove it," Regulus said, sounding rather appeased despite the recent torture.

"You're just pleased about Binns' comment on your essay," Alex said, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Regulus quirked his brow. "Jealous?" he said.

Alex yawned. "Hardly. I know how many hours you spent on it." She stretched her arms.

"At least we got something," Regulus said encouragingly.

"Yes. A bloody recommended reading list." Alex rolled her eyes. "He even gave us a permission slip for going into the Restricted Section."

"It's actually quite ideal," Regulus said. "I've been hoping to get a look at the Restricted Section, but you know how...er… neurotic Pince is."

"Sure," Alex said, scoffing. For someone who seemed so straight and uptight, Regulus certainly had different ideas about how much rules applied to him. "I doubt Pince would even let you go into the section. She'll probably hand-pick the books herself and give them to us. If she does at all." But her lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to affect Regulus, whose step had a skip as they trod their way to lunch.

* * *

Madam Pince's answer was quite simple.

"No."

Alex looked back at the flat, stubborn eyes of Madam Pince. Next to her, Regulus shifted uneasily, but his voice was light.

"I beg your pardon, Madam," he said, "but we had express permission from Professor Binns—"

"Binns has been sending his students to the Restricted Section as long as I can remember, recommending them books about torture and secret police and rebellions—so no."

"But Madam Pince," Regulus resisted, "this is for research purposes only. We were hoping to write a paper on the legend of four points and other 'starting' myths for our final paper." Alex raised her eyebrow but directed her face to the ground so Pince couldn't see anything. There was no final paper and even if there was one Binns would never let his students work together. And hadn't Regulus dismissed the legend as nothing but a fairytale just few days ago?

"There are plenty of books about the myths in the library that you can get access to," Madam Pince said firmly. "If you want, I can get you the call numbers so you'll know where to start."

"That sounds great, Madam Pince," Alex said loudly. "Could you please write them down for us? I always forget these things." Next to her she could tell that Regulus was looking rather incredulously at her but Alex simply nudged his foot with hers firmly. Madam Pince grumbled but nevertheless gave her a piece of paper after a while and Alex thanked her before dragging Regulus out of the library.

Regulus looked at her. "I'm guessing you have a plan."

Alex rubbed her eyes tiredly. "First of all, I'm not sure why you're that keen on going to the Restricted Section."

Regulus's eyes lit up. "Lucius told me that there are books there about topics that we don't even discuss in class—about the nature of magic and what it means to be magical and—"

Alex didn't know whether to be relieved that Regulus wasn't interested in more gruesome things—which spanned from the secret catalogues that boys traded when they thought the girls weren't looking to the methods of torture that Madam Pince mentioned—or to be amused at Regulus's categorical enthusiasm for the subject. Either way, she felt more assured. "Pince isn't going to bend just because we try to reason with her. I've no specific desire to go in there, but if we are going to, then we'll have to find another way."

Regulus studied her expression. Slowly, a grin spread across face. "We'll sneak in, then," he said. "And here I was, thinking that this Easter holiday was going to be dull."


	9. Chapter 9

"Quickly," Alex hissed. "This way."

They were quite slithering through the aisles nearest to the Restricted Section. Every time they passed an end of a bookshelf Alex caught a glimpse of the bars that went from floor to ceiling, black and polished and imposing. Alex sighed inwardly. As much as she wished to see the Restricted Section—for no other sake, if nothing else, than to see a restricted section—she wondered for the millionth time if they were just wasting time. Net to her Regulus followed easily, looking unperturbed and in command of himself—his poker face, Alex realized. In case they were caught, they had decided, it would be at least more dignified to act as though they had done nothing outside their rights. Regulus, however, had carried out this decision to a scary end.

"What's next?"

"You know what's next," Alex sighed.

Regulus grinned briefly. "I do," he said. He drew out his wand and carefully aimed at a bronze eagle statue sitting on the entrance of the Restricted Section, on one of the marble column jambs.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," he whispered. At the same time, Alex drew out her wand and shouted softly, " _Diffindo_!"

Now the eagle statue was hovering softly above the column and Alex swallowed. Madam Pince was sitting at the entrance of the Restricted Section, pointedly looking over her spectacles at the catalogue of books lying on her small desk. Hopefully she didn't notice anything—yet.

" _Animoso_ ," Alex said, pointing directly at the heart of the eagle. Slowly, miraculously, the eagle's head turned slightly, and its wings began to flap, albeit feebly.

"It worked," Alex breathed out, disbelieving. She had practiced on her quill and other things in her book bag, but she wasn't certain if it would work with a heavier object.

"Now where to, Master Regulus?" she asked, grinning. Suddenly it seemed ridiculous that they should be caught in their little enterprise, not at all, and she enjoyed the surge of confidence that filled her slowly from the head.

"Her quill," Regulus suggested. "Fly off with it." Alex nodded and pointed her wand at the eagle again. It took off from its nest, its flight far too graceful for a simple statue, and landed on Pince's desk before grasping her quill with its claws and departing again, into the depths of the Restricted Section.

"Stop!" Madam Pince screeched, waving her wand frantically at the bird. "Stop it, whoever you are!" She fumbled to follow the bird. Alex looked at Regulus. Their eyes met.

Without further comment they sprinted into the Restricted Section. It was late morning—right after the brunch on Sunday—and the duo had ascertained that no upperclass student had entered the library, much less the Restricted Section. Most of the students had gone home for the holiday, and the rest who remained were still barely awake, happily massaging their bellies in the Great Hall. They had discussed the time of the "invasion" several times and concluded that today was probably the most ideal.

" _Wouldn't it be safer at night?" Regulus had said one night in the Common Rom, when everyone had gone away to pack. "No one will see us."_

 _Alex thought and shook her head slowly. "Maybe they won't be able to see our faces, but security's tripled in the night. Filch roams around the castle and the door will be locked and I bet there might also be several detection charms placed at strategic corners. Besides, we won't be able to read what's right in front of us unless we have some light, which is sure to get us caught. There's only Pince guarding the entrance in daylight and she's always guarding the books in the library, so she gets up frequently. She usually locks the doors before she goes anywhere, but in case of an emergency—" Alex grinned. "She won't be able to."_

 _Regulus sighed. "I suppose," he said. "Sunday would then probably be the best. Everybody lazes around on Sunday." Alex nodded._

" _The diversion," she continued, "we should plant it inside the Restricted Section. Then Pince will suspect that it came from outside, especially if she thinks no one entered the section in the first place."_

 _Regulus nodded. "I'd promised to return Narcissa's books before the break," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's probably too busy watching over Lucius to do anything else. They're from the Restricted Section—I'll plant something in them and when the time is ripe we'll set it off." Alex nodded._

" _Bigger the better," she said._

So now they were racing through the aisles of the Restricted Section, running as far away from Pince as they could. Alex looked back briefly. The eagle was nowhere to be seen—hopefully, it was successful in its escape.

"Now?" Alex asked, gasping. The sprint had done nothing for her unexercised lungs. Regulus shook his head.

"Further away," he gasped. "That… thing… is… _loud_." Without argument they ran further.

"Here. Here might be good," Regulus said. "I saw Pince reshelving those books—they're close to the entrance." He took a deep breath pointed his wand. " _Reparo_ ," he said.

Alex furrowed her eyebrows. "Wait, _Reparo_? What are you do—" The question was answered when a shrill voice rang through the library. It yelled an incoherent jumble of words, very few of which Alex could catch—she thought she had heard 'blood' a couple of times, but she wasn't sure. She put her hands over her ears. Next to her Regulus frowned distastefully.

"I'd put the _Sonorus_ charm on it," he said right onto her hand. "A Howler. It's not as loud as I hoped it would be."

"Trust me, that's more than enough," Alex said. Regulus grinned.

"So what now?" Alex muttered. She could hear Pince's own shrill shouting mix with the Howler's voice, something along the lines of 'Come out, you unscrupulous ruffians!'

"We wait it out," Regulus said. "Like you said, Pince will go outside to look for the culprit." The shouting ceased a little. Alex relaxed her shoulders and searched inside her pocket for the list that Binns had given her, as well as his permission slip.

Regulus looked at her oddly. "Why on Merlin's shoelaces do you have those for?"

"Insurance," she said. "If anyone asks, Professor Binns sent us here and Pince let us in."

Regulus nodded. "Good thinking. Now let's get to work—we have a long day in front of us."

* * *

They had spent the entire morning and a better part of the afternoon cooped up in various niches of the Restricted Section, avoiding the watchful gaze of Madam Pince. The goal, they decided, was not to read as many books as they could, but smuggle out as many books as they could; so the pair diligently gathered every book that seemed relevant or interesting, creeping the aisles slowly, their arms trembling with the effort of carrying so many books. When a group of particularly rowdy third-years attracted Madam Pince's attention, Alex and Regulus quickly walked out of the entrance, looking as though they owned the place. They quickly disguised the smuggled goods with other library books at their usual desk and proceeded to sit along with the rest of the students.

"Now that I come to think of it," Alex said. "Where did you get the Howler?"

Regulus smiled rather tightly. "Sheer improvisation," he said. "It was the first thing at hand."

"Yes, but why?"

Regulus put down his quill and sighed. "Barney—you know, the family owl—delivered something to me a few days before Easter. Apparently, Mother wished to express clearly that either Sirius will have to apologize or he wasn't welcome during the break." He shook his head. "I don't think he was planning to go anyhow, but I suppose she wanted to beat him to the punch. Anyway, it seems that Sirius gave her a rather… er, scathing reply. So Mother sent me a letter to give him an earful."

Alex frowned. "She sent you a Howler?"

Regulus merely quirked his eyebrow.

"That's not really fair, you haven't done anything," Alex said indignantly.

"I'm sure that Mother meant little by it," Regulus replied tiredly. "She was probably just in one of her episodes."

Alex pursed her lips, the letters in front of her no longer as exciting as they had been. Regulus never said anything against his parents, so Alex didn't know what was exactly wrong with them other than that they never seemed to be able to accept their eldest son. She wanted to ask more, but, looking at Regulus's expression, decided not to.

"I'd torn that Howler into two before it was finished," Regulus continued. "And had planned to throw it away until I realized that I needed a diversion. We can't get to Zonko's or any other joke shop like that. I do think I heard a group of students talking about some secret mail order..." Regulus trailed off, somehow deep in thought, before shrugging and going back to his book.

"It was a good method anyhow," Regulus said after a while, still looking at his book.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Howler," Regulus said. "It burns itself after it finishes delivering a message. Or tears itself up. In any case, we are in no danger of being traced."

Alex nodded, but didn't have heart to tell him that _that_ had been the least of her worries. Instead she went back to her book, _Foreign Elements_ by Azamat the Younger. She was surprised to find the book, even more surprised when she realized that it had been translated, with the original ancient text on the side for clarification. It spoke of magic in two opposing parts, where one magic both challenged and complemented the other. The introduction, however, was too theoretical and began to make her lose focus. Her eyes read the same sentence over and over again, wondering why it always ended with a period…

" _Foreign Elements_! Why, didn't think you had that in you, Wilson!" A familiar voice said from somewhere near and Alex opened her eyes to find Rosier grinning down at her, casually flicking over the book she had been reading. Alex snapped herself awake.

"Lower your voice!" Regulus's hiss came out unexpectedly venomous.

To her surprise, no one contradicted him. "He's right," Mulciber said. "We can't be seen with that book. It's dangerous." He looked around. "Where did you even get that book, Wilson? Most people would have your head for it, you should know."

"I—" Alex began to say, but her brain was still slightly foggy from her slumber and she hesitated. Luckily, Regulus took over.

"I lent it to her," he said quietly, and other boys gathered around the table to listen in. "I had a copy at home. Why not?" He shrugged indifferently.

"Then you should've told her to not take it out of the Slytherin Common Room!" Avery said hotly, and several onlookers looked their way. He lowered his voice. "What were you thinking, letting her read that in plain sight?"

Regulus raised his eyebrow very, very slightly. "Are you suggesting that I have been incautious, Avery?" he asked quietly.

Avery swallowed. Alex could see the conflict playing out in his mind, the urge to argue back and to cringe at Regulus's cool gaze. Alex frowned into the book. She felt uncomfortable whenever Regulus became that way. And it seemed that he acted that way more and more frequently as the year passed.

"Of course not," Avery muttered. "We should just all be careful, that's all." He cleared his throat and looked around. "I have to—I have to find a book. For—for Potions. Yes, Potions." Without further comment he hurried to the nearest bookshelf and Rosier followed. Mulciber gave one last look at the book before leaving. Alex forced herself to look undisturbed, but she had seen the look in Mulciber's eyes—it was almost greedy.

Regulus sighed when he was certain that they were gone. "I didn't think they even knew where the library was," he muttered. "So much for privacy, then."

"Reg, do you—do you know this book?" Alex asked, holding it up. Immediately, Regulus's hand shot up to bring her hand down—gently, but unmistakably firmly. Alex gave him a quizzical look and Regulus looked around.

"I didn't realize that you had _that_ ," Regulus whispered. "It's out of circulation. For a reason. There is only a limited number of copies around the world. Surprising, really, that there would be one at Hogwarts, at such a plain sight. It's well known that there's one at my house—that's why I told them I lent it to you. Nothing good can happen if they knew you had your own."

"What's going on?" she asked.

Regulus didn't answer. "How far did you read?" he asked.

"Just the introduction," Alex answered. "It's a bit dull, actually."

Regulus looked like he wanted to laugh. "Dull. Really."

"It just keeps talking about two kinds of magic—"

"Right," Regulus said. "Light Magic and Dark Magic."

Alex looked at him in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Alex, Azamat the Younger was the founder of the theory of duality. That for every magic, there is another kind of magic; and, if all magic is put together, there are two kinds of magic in total. Light and Dark magic."

Alex shrugged. "So?"

"Alex, he's the first person who came up with the idea of Dark Arts." Regulus's eyes were intent and serious as he looked at her. Alex frowned.

"That doesn't sound right," she said. "The Dark Arts that _we_ know is used to hurt people. He talks about Dark Magic that's just really an opposite of what Light Magic is—you know, like opening and locking spell."

"That's how it began," Regulus said. "A harmless idea. Then some people grew scared about what Dark Arts could mean and decided to ban the entire subject from public discussion. Rather hypocritical, really, seeing as Light Magic builds off _on_ Dark Magic. Just the way Dark Magic builds off on Light Magic. It's a pity."

"Regulus," Alex said again, "how do you know all this?"

"It's a part of the history of magic," Regulus said. "Our understanding of what magic is. We don't learn the theoretical aspects until Sixth or Seventh year, when most students drop the class altogether. Which is another pity. People should know more about these things." Alex didn't know what to say to this, but the book in her hands suddenly felt a lot heavier than it did a moment ago.

"Reg, do you think—" Alex frowned. "Do you think people should know how to practice Dark Arts?"

Regulus looked back at her. "Of course," he said. "Isn't that what I just said?"

Alex nodded. "Right," she said. She went back to her book, but couldn't resist stealing a glance at her friend soon after. He was immersed in is book—what it was about, she hadn't asked, and, after their recent conversation, wasn't sure if she wanted to—and Alex considered his hair falling into his eyes and curling around his ears, the crease between his eyebrows, his lips set in determination. Occasionally they moved as he read along a line that he wanted to think over before closing firmly again. Regulus Arcturus Black who was her friend.

Her mother would most definitely not be happy, Alex knew. Although they had never talked explicitly about the subject, Alex surmised that her mother had little love for Dark Arts or the You-Know-Who—that's what _Daily Prophet_ called him anyway—who had been creating havoc and terrorizing civilians for almost two decades now. She had automatically branded Regulus as "a Black" and was clearly not fond of his mother. Alex had resented her for thinking Regulus as nothing more than "a Black boy" who followed his parents' ideals but now—now she wasn't so sure, looking at the bridge of his nose, it wasn't clear if she saw Regulus, her friend, or Regulus Arcturus Black, a boy she didn't know.

"Stop staring," he muttered. Alex's eyes widened but she soon said,

"I'm not staring."

"Yes, you are," he said, "and it's making me feel uncomfortable." Then he looked up and grinned at her, a lighthearted, playful grin, and Alex looked away, feeling oddly guilty.

Polaris Wymond had praised _Foreign Elements_ again and again in her book, citing it as one of her best sources in regards to the understanding of offenses and defenses that should be built around them. She had shown no hesitation about its delineation of magic into Dark and Light magic or the potential harmful effects of Dark Arts—but perhaps Alex spoke simply with the benefit of time and experience of history. Certainly, Polaris Wymond's book did not show any consciousness about Dark Arts as a way to harm people. Quite the opposite, in fact, was her view in some cases; to stop the enemy from entering a mansion, for example, one might put protective spells around the area, defensive in nature, designed to repel outsiders—potentially quite harmful—but it was for the sake of defense and protecting one's own life. And had she not read articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about the regulation being lifted so that Aurors could use Dark Arts to capture the Death Eaters? What separated Dark Arts from non-Dark Arts, then, but who was using it? The ultimate judge, as far as she could tell, would be the future generation…

But Alex remembered some of the more unpleasant books she had come across in the Restricted Section and wrinkled her nose as she remembered the pictures of men with damaged skin, thickened—quite literally—blood, shrunken body parts, and wondered who would ever be able to inflict such harm on another individual. Or what would propel them to do so.

Slightly before dinner she and Regulus decided to take the books back to the dorms, where they could view them with less circumspection. Alex stored the books in her trunk, which she pushed under her bed, and did not open it until she had gone to dinner and came back, feeling suspiciously watched even though Rebecca and Leslie had gone home for the break. From the trunk she took out Bagshot's _Legends and Myths_ —one of the books on Binns' reading list that had actually appeared promising—and flipped open to chapter eight. The Legend of the Four.

 _The first wizards appeared seemingly out of nowhere, often confused about their abilities and unaware of the existence of other magical folks. It was not until humanity began to congregate into towns and later cities that those with magical powers began to encounter one another and discover their potential. As their community grew larger and larger, four leading wizards of the day decided to properly found a city, known to us only by the name A (some speculate that this is the mystical Atlanta that often features in Muggle fantasies), built by the hand of every man and woman. Four sectors were established to keep the society in order, and thus the Four Points emerged: Libra, responsible for administrative matters; Gemini, food and entertainment; Capricorn, education; and Scorpio, in charge of defense, the peacekeepers._

 _Although the founders, bound by their ideals and hopes, led the city in peaceful coexistence, envy that gnawed at each sector's hearts led to strife within the once glorious city of A. Libra, drunk with power, wielded their scythe mercilessly, and, after the invention of wand, began to terrorize those who went against their command. Gemini decided to deprive the other wizards of food and merriment in retaliation to Libra's tyranny. Some scholars of Capricorn found the situation hopeless and left the city of A to educate wizards in different parts of the globe who did not have the advantage of collective magical knowledge; the most famous examples of these scholars were the founders of Hogwarts, one of the oldest magical institutions in the world, currently located somewhere in Scotland, United Kingdom. Other scholars began to take sides, some siding with Libra's efforts to rule A with reason and logic, and others aiding Capricorn with their knowledge. Scorpio tried to maintain the outward appearance of peace between the four sectors, but when the war broke out between Libra and Gemini, they found themselves torn between two warring sides that demanded their loyalty. Deciding that it would do least harm to not choose, they remained neutral. When Libra and Gemini threatened to eradicate every last one of its members, however, Scorpio finally made a choice: they disappeared._

 _When the brutal and bloody war finally came to an end, most of the citizens of A had already fled to different parts of the world, searching for their kin, joining secret magical societies. The glorious achievements of A became misty, dim memories of a distant civilization. The three sectors broke apart, disappearing into different parts of history. Rumors soon began to flow, however, of a secret society among the secret societies, made up of the descendants of Scorpio, now calling themselves Conservato; they maintained the order of the wizarding world through clandestine means, often penetrating the existing societies as their own members, mingling with the indigenous people to gain trust and influence. The center of this society was never found, however, and the rumors soon disappeared._

 _Now the legend of the Four Points and Conservato would be safely classified as extinct, as it was decided by Bertie Babblesheath that the pursuit of this mythical organization would lead only to a tremendous waste of time and odd consequences. The most recent scholar of this legend was oddly enough Gallert Grindelwald, who was fanatic in his search for the lost society of the Darkhiders. Attempting to exterminate all forces that could oppose him, he followed a trail that he believed would lead him directly to the center of Conservato; however, his explorations came to a dead end, as could only come from chasing after an invisible thestral…_

Alex stared at the last word, disbelieving. Was that it?

Certainly, Bagshot treated the legend more seriously than Regulus or Binns, but that was to be expected—she was writing about it. And she had devoted an entire volume to various legends that described the beginnings of the wizarding society, recounting each tale as if they were all valid before offering her views or opinions. Alex flipped through the book, and it was clear enough that all tales started in the same manner—that wizards, scattered across the globe, gradually became aware of their powers—although in some tales select individuals were given magical powers by three gods H, W, Y. There were Greeks who believed there was a special goddess of magic, but to them every godly power seemed magical, too…

Alex rubbed her eyes. The book provided far too many options for her to be able to decide which she found most plausible. Polaris Wymond had spoken so confidently about the Legend of Four Points that it seemed almost indubitable that the legend was false. But supposing that it was true, supposing that it was—why was it so important to a woman in sixteenth century whose family primarily worked in defense and fortresses?

Alex's eyes widened, reading the passage again.

A section called Scorpio in charge if defense and peacekeeping, who later disappeared as a sign of their disapproval of the war. Convervato, a secret society of Darkhiders, whose job was to maintain order and peace of the wizarding society…

But that didn't prove anything. Regulus had said it—Binns had said it. People those days were fond of quoting from old legends and myths. But why this legend—were the Wymonds simply fabricating a family heritage that they didn't exist to feel important? Were they just one of the new rising families that began to gain prominence? Polaris Wymond did not mention any other legends, not one, focusing on the Legend of the Four, repeating, over and over, that while she could not say much on the subject, that her family is connected to it. Had she been relying on the ninth Cygnus to catch the meaning? But why?

 _Darkhiders_?

Bagshot's book had been in the Restricted Section for at least three decades. That much Alex could tell—the book itself was the first edition and there was at least half an inch of dust on the book when she first picked it off the shelf, despite Madam Pince's meticulous attention to the condition of her books. Presumably, no upper class student ever bothered to pick up a book about myths and legends of the magical world when there were books about—she didn't know—Dark Magic or the secrets of alchemy. Come to think of it, why were these banal collection of legends, which most students would probably dismiss as nothing but children's fairytale, placed in the Restricted Section to begin with? And she still didn't have the answer to the first question: was Polaris Wymond truly related to Conservato, a secret society that has existed since—since the beginning of the wizarding society? Or was it the end and disintegration of the wizarding society that truly marked its beginning? Alex didn't know.

Alex looked down at the book. It was a fairly thick volume, twelfth in the series of twenty—surely, no one would notice if it was missing. She frowned. It was probably not a good idea to carry the book around everywhere, however. It was quite heavy.

Without much hesitation Alex held the corner of the page carefully in her hand and pulled gently. The paper easily came loose, almost tearing itself out of the book. She carefully folded the torn page into four before placing it between the pages of her personal notebook, which was promptly put back in her trunk. The book itself she stowed away in her book bag—she would return it to the library tomorrow.

Alex stood in the middle of the room, looking around. Three poster beds, hers most messy because she had recently lain on it, her bag placed far too neatly on the chair in the corner. Her eyes shifted restlessly from and object to another object. She tidied up her side table, feeling edgy, and because she couldn't calm down, she dragged the trunk from under the bed, took out every article of clothing, book, note, and quill from it before arranging them neatly back in them. She even separated her notes from the pile and organized them by subject and date—well, Regulus had been dropping hints since February that they should probably begin to study for the final exams. Who began to study for the final examinations which were in May in February, Alex didn't know. But it was the middle of April already and Alex supposed that it was about time. She sighed, looking at the pile of notes on her bed. At least Regulus will be pleased.

But she was still restless.

She opened the door and slowly crept out of the girls' dormitory. Not many students in Slytherin had stayed for the break, but there were always some older students who was ready with a complaint about noisy first years or something else and she didn't want to give them another excuse. The common room was dimly lit—some students were finishing up a game of wizard chess, and an older couple were sitting in a secluded armchair in the background. Alex decided not to look at their direction. She did not need that right now.

Regulus was sitting on an armchair by the fireside, reading. Alex crept up behind him, looking down at what he was reading.

"Is that—is that _Foreign Elements_?" she asked, surprised. Regulus didn't look up, as though he had known the whole time that she was there.

"Yup."

"From your house?" the library copy was safely stored in her trunk. She knew. She had just cleaned it.

"Hm." She took this to be one of assent. Alex sat on the foot of the armchair, resting her back against Regulus's shins. Behind her he shifted slightly, but let her stay in her position without comment. The flames had the characteristic lime tinge to it and Alex wondered if the flame was magical or if it was real—if there was even a difference between those two. The wizards took the magical flames as authentic. That should be enough, shouldn't it?

Her mother had not said much about her father. Alex had never pressed her about it, even when she learned that she was a wizard, because she felt it was a subject not to be discussed with her mother, and because her mother never seemed happy whenever the subject came up indirectly or directly. The Sorting Hat had confirmed that her father also went to Hogwarts and was a Slytherin—funny that her mother should object to her having Slytherin friends, then, although perhaps her mother's refusal to talk about her father may explain that sentiment. But she must have loved her father at some point, cared about him deeply. Was it impossible that, had Altair Wymond been the direct descendent of Polaris Wymond, he would have told Sophia Wilson about his family secret? But was Altair a descendent of Polaris Wymond and had Polaris Wymond been truthful when she implied the connection between herself and Scorpio? Or, perhaps more importantly, were her interpretations in any way true? She didn't know.

"Something's wrong," Regulus said. It wasn't a question.

"Nothing's wrong," she said.

"Something is," he said. "So what's wrong?"

Alex looked at the flickering flame, feeling its warmth slowly spreading through her body. The Common Room was warmer than the dormitory. Alex didn't know that. "What are you doing here at this hour, then?" Alex asked.

"Reading," Regulus answered. "Can hardly open this book up there without getting pestered about it. Or worse,…." Regulus paused. He didn't say anything, but Alex nodded.

"Stolen," she filled in quietly. Regulus sighed.

"I brought it from home during winter break as a bit of a side reading," he said. "I knew it wasn't the brightest idea, smuggling it inside the castle, but it's an important text for most historians of magic. I thought I would give it a try." Alex nodded. They sat in silence for a while. Alex could hear Regulus's quiet, regular breathing behind her, an occasional rustle of the pages as he deliberated on turning the page or not, a slight shift of his legs every once in a while for comfort. She leaned her head against his knees. Regulus stilled.

"Alex, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," she answered. "I can't tell what it is." Regulus remained quiet.

"I just wonder—if my—my dad—was something else—and my mum—knew about it," Alex murmured slowly, sounding almost drowsy. "I don't think I should ask her. I've wanted to, ever since I learned—learned that I was a witch. I don't think she'll tell me if I asked. She didn't even want me to come here," Alex paused.

Regulus seemed to consider. "For what it's worth," he finally said, "I think you've done very well the past months. And I—" he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm glad I've met you."

Now Alex stilled in her position. Considered. Decided that silence was the best option she had right now.

Thankfully, Regulus still had some things to fill the silence with. "And about your parents—I don't know what happened, so I can't say much about it. But maybe you'll find out more about it—maybe they'll tell you—when they're ready. It'll get better when we're older, you'll see." Then Regulus Black did something unexpected by letting go of his book and gently stroking her hair as if she were a little puppy in need of a comfort. Alex froze, acutely aware of her surroundings and wondering how they had both ended up in this position. At his words of reassurance that things will get better—that she was doing very well—she felt an overwhelming surge of surprise and gratitude and a feeling of comfort that she had not felt in a while. She had discovered an old friend, a precious friend whom she hoped would stay by her side for a long, long time, and, this wish just uncovered, Alex didn't know what to do with it other than just to relax against him and close her eyes for a moment. Respite.

They didn't talk about what happened the day after nor during the entire break. They did not talk about it when they studied for the final examinations together in the library or even when the left for the train station after the final feast. The train ride back home was a quiet one, surrounded by other students who were excited for the summer, eagerly discussing plans, giving out invitations, the early summer sun high in the sky. When the train came to a stop, Regulus helped her get off the train and she accepted his offer without comment. He smiled at her and she smiled back. The exchange lasted very briefly before they parted ways; Regulus went to find his parents, and Alex was met by her mother's welcoming embrace. She looked back and gave him a final wave. He grinned back.


	10. Chapter 10

Two and a half summers passed.

The summer of 1974 was an especially hot one. Or so it felt to Alex, who opened her eyes to the dark rays of dawn covered in sweat. Her blanket had been kicked aside to the foot of her bed and the shirt she wore clung to her neck and chest. She stayed still, hoping that wind would blow from the window and cool her down. It did not happen.

The stillness of the dawn felt paradoxical given the nature of the conversation she had with her mother last night. Sophia Wilson had decided to quit her job at the local school, to Alex's much surprise. No, she had not grown attached to Mr. Whitman and realized that the best life she could lead was by his side, as Alex had jokingly asked. Instead, it was something deeper.

" _I'm joining the Order," her mother had said, her face serious._

 _Alex had been working on her second helping of salad. "What order?" she asked._

" _The Order of the Phoenix," her mother answered. Alex put down her fork._

 _She'd heard about the order, usually in a negative context. The discussions and dissent murmured in the Slytherin house had been growing stronger and louder in recent years._ Daily Prophet _became thicker and thicker with lists of names of people missing, apparently thriving on the new demand created by the incompetency of the Ministry to keep the order in check and the rampant violence inflicted by the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. Most of her housemates who had enough interest about the issue knew about the Order—knew that Dumbledore was the leader, a counter-organization against the rebels of Death Eaters led by Voldemort—and saw it as the common enemy, never hesitating to hiss at Dumbledore during feasts and occasional dinners when he made appearance. The house was like a hive of bees, buzzing with activity and discussion and exchange of ideas that Alex knew the rest of the school would blanch at and run away from, and apparently she was one of the bees._

 _Or so they thought._

" _It's getting worse," her mother was saying. "The Death Eaters—there were there when I graduated from Hogwarts. That was more than fifteen years ago. I'd hoped that they would quiet down eventually, but they're still there and getting even stronger and larger every week. I can no longer remain standing on the sidelines and waiting foolishly for it to end." Her mother looked at her earnestly. Alex didn't know what to say. In front of swirled the images of her mother, Rebecca, Leila, Avery, Mulciber, Snape, other housemates that she felt somehow responsible for defending._

" _So you're going back?" Alex swallowed. "To the wizarding world?"_

 _Her mother nodded grimly. Alex looked out the window._

" _You know it's dangerous," she said almost casually._

" _I know," her mother replied. "But I think it'll be even more dangerous not to fight back."_

 _Alex rubbed her hand over her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "I guess you're right." They stayed in silence for a while._

" _I've spoken to Professor Dumbledore," her mother said. "From September, I'll be working at_ Transfiguration Today _as an editor."_

 _Alex's eyes widened in surprise. "That's pretty lucky, isn't it?"_

 _Her mother smiled thinly, as though remembering a not very fond memory. "I used to work there and they know me—but it is very lucky, yes."_

 _Alex hesitated. "But are you okay with going back?"_

 _Her mother smiled at her, a warm, genuine smile that for some reason left Alex more worried than before. "Of course," she said. "It's for the best."_

So her mother was becoming a witch again—Alex didn't think that phrase even made much sense—and becoming a member of the Order. Nothing wrong with either of those things. She supposed that it would be a more worthwhile life for her mother, who, she knew, had been quite an excellent student at Hogwarts, being a prefect and all. Alex didn't know what made her give up that part of life and her mother never said. Just repeated that she wanted something different for Alex.

Her mother had already installed the Floo Network at their house, however small the fireplace might have been. And, although the shift was subtle, the house was slightly more organized, slightly more put-together. Alex supposed that it was not a bad change, especially seeing as they were going to have a guest. Her stomach churned.

Regulus would never ask directly, but he had hinted once or twice that he was curious to see Alex's home. To that Alex never gave a clear reply, preferring to remain ambiguous. She'd never told him that her mother could probably never imagine a more unpleasant houseguest than a Black. Then third year came, when he, contrary to every expectation, began to take Muggle Studies along with Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmacy and Ancient Runes (even McGonagall dissuaded students from taking more than two electives and he had already chosen three without Muggle Studies) and, either fascinated or horrified—a bit of both, Alex wagered—he asked her directly if he could come to where she lived and experience what Muggle life was like (he didn't mean to imply that she was a Muggle, of course, he hastily added). Alex knew that such a direct request from him usually meant that he wanted it very much and found it harder to say no despite her mother's reservations about the boy. So she had asked her mother and, to her surprise, she said yes. Alex wrote him first thing the break began.

But could it be that her mother had had an ulterior motive? Alex didn't want to consider such a possibility, and felt it was a horrible thing of her to even think of. But—why did she say yes so willingly? Alex couldn't understand, and, lying on the bed as the dawn left its trail across the sky, she felt an uncomfortable clench in the gut. This visit couldn't turn out well. She hoped her feeling was wrong.

* * *

"When is he coming? Five, right?" The question stopped Alex on her track. She had been pacing around the livingroom for the last half hour, staring out the window, whipping her head around to check the clock, and acting as though everything was fine. She didn't want to show her mother that she was uneasy about Regulus and her mother being together, or that she was worried about anything going astray. Unfortunately, her body wasn't so willful.

"Five," she answered, peering out the window. Her mother sighed.

"Alex, it's only five fifteen. You don't need to be worried. Although I did expect his mother to teach him better manners," her mother added lightly and Alex clenched and unclenched her fists restlessly.

"He's never late," Alex said, almost apologetically. And it was true—whenever they planned to go to Hogsmeade together, he arrived on time, right on the dot. In fact, she had seen him get up at four to make it to the five o'clock Quidditch practice—he had made Seeker his second year and had kept the position since—while every other player was asleep until five fifteen. He was so practical that sometimes he asked Alex to meet him in front of the library at five thirty-eight or some similar time—for Merlin's sake.

No, Regulus Black did not do late. All the more reason to worry.

"The Floo doesn't hold people up or something, does it?" Alex asked, feeling foolish—Regulus would have taken that into account and then some if that was the case.

"No," her mother replied. "The traffic's sometimes busy, but the longest hold-up in history was five minutes. That was during the initial stages of development."

"Okay," Alex answered. "But Regulus would've known that if there was going to be the—"

A loud rumble came from the fireplace and Alex stood still, staring intently at the fireplace. Her mother had a mild look of surprise on her face, watching blandly from the armchair. A flame of green fire flashed suddenly before quickly extinguishing and in its place stood Regulus, coughing slightly.

"Watch your head," Alex said automatically.

"Hullo," he said, stepping out of the fireplace after dusting himself. "So sorry I'm late, I had—er—a bit of family matter to attend to, again, I'm so sorry." The last words were directed at Sophia Wilson who had meanwhile stood up silently from her chair. "Ms. Wilson, I'm so glad to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you from Alex."

Sophia Wilson shook the proffered hand. "Regulus," she said, her voice not altogether cold. "I've heard a lot about you as well. Welcome to our home." Alex noticed the slight emphasis on _our_ but decided not to comment.

"Thank you for having me. I know that you don't like visitors." Regulus's voice was polite enough, but Alex noted the unnecessary second sentence. She did tell him that her mother preferred to be left alone and that they lived quite secluded in their small town but it seemed odd that Regulus should mention it with such a—formal tone.

Sophia Wilson answered this with a slight smile but didn't answer further.

"House!" Alex blurted out. The two looked oddly at her.

"Show Regulus the house," Alex said defensively. "I shall do that, shan't I? So this is the living room—" Regulus made the motion to retrieve his small bag from the fireplace and Alex stood, torn.

"You can leave your bag here, Regulus," Sophia Wilson said. "It would be fine."

Alex felt her face color as she felt Regulus's curious gaze at her direction. "Mom—"

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Regulus caught on quickly. "Alright," he said, dropping the bag quietly next to the sofa.

"Mom, really, he can use my room—" Alex began again.

"And drive you out of your own room? Nonsense," Regulus said, giving her his most winning smile, making her feel like a stranger. "I feel attached to the sofa already."

* * *

"And this is my room," Alex swallowed, feeling unexpectedly nervous as Regulus climbed up after her into the attic. He had been mostly silent during the entire tour, occasionally nodding or saying "Ah," but keeping the questions that he had to himself. Alex had seen him reach out to touch something or read the titles of the books in the library several times, as though he were an astronaut seeing the moon for the first time. Suddenly her room, which was cozy by herself, felt cramped; Regulus had to duck as he peered out the window, and Alex realized that Regulus had gotten taller over the summer—now a little taller than her. She sat on a chair defensively, feeling protective of her room and her smaller stature.

"Huh," was all he said. Alex raised her eyebrow as Regulus looked around slowly, reading the titles on the bookshelf, picking up an old snow globe from a trip her mother and she had taken when she couldn't have been six years old. His eyebrow quirked up as he held out a photo frame.

"Is this you?" he asked and Alex felt herself flush.

"I was five!" she said defensively, lunging for the photo. Unfortunately, Regulus was faster.

"You certainly look like a five-year-old," Regulus said, observing the photograph while managing to deflect her attempts to retrieve it. "Are you dressed up as a pumpkin?"

"It was a school event!"

Regulus laughed. "I don't see you dressing up for Quidditch games," he said.

"Don't be ridiculous, green and silver doesn't even go with pumpkin." She finally succeeded in wrangling the frame from his hands. She sat down on her bed, huffing slightly.

"The picture didn't move," Regulus said casually.

"'Course not, it's Muggle photograph."

Regulus nodded. "I know it's a Muggle photograph—I just never actually saw one before."

Alex gave him an ironic smile.

"Welcome to my home," she said.

Her mother had insisted that they take a walk outside before dinner and, despite Alex's protests that she'd help (she wasn't sure how helpful Regulus would be in the kitchen but, judging from his anecdotes about his childhood, she guessed 'very little' to be the answer), they found themselves on a rather pleasant stroll through town. Alex had not noticed at first that Regulus had managed to put on Muggle clothing—her own attire she was too used to to notice—and was surprised to find that he had dressed himself rather decently.

"Nicked some from Sirius's closet," was Regulus's practical answer as they went down the main street. "No idea _how_ he got them—to be honest, I would rather not know—but I doubt he'll be missing them anytime soon."

"Gone away again?" Mrs. Black's disliking of her eldest son's choice of friends was not an unknown subject amongst the Slytherins—or Hogwarts, in general, as the Marauders became more and more popular and more and more listeners conveniently found their spots closer to where they could hear them talking—and Alex knew that every summer could not go by unless Mrs. Black and her son had a "conversation" about his summer plans, where he would demand to go to the Potter's and his mother would list the virtues of a good pureblood breeding and the dangers of bloodtraitor families—especially the rich ones.

"Yup." The _p_ popped loudly on Regulus's mouth, an uncharacteristic sound.

"Reg, what happened to your face?" Alex asked almost nonchalantly. Regulus looked at her in surprise.

"Is there something on my face?"

"There's a cut—here," she pointed at her own left cheekbone. Regulus dabbed on his and found bits of dried blood on his fingers. He shook his head.

"It's nothing," he said.

"Family matter?" she quoted his earlier excuse for coming late.

Regulus emitted something like a sharp exhale that could have been a laughter but wasn't. "Mother wasn't pleased about us leaving on the same day. Purely coincidental, of course, and she didn't mean to, but—well, her condition's been getting worse." Mrs. Black suffered from what Rebecca called "minor colds" and what Leila called "maniac episodes." Alex did not entirely understand their allusion, but, as far as she could tell, Regulus didn't come out unscratched from any of them. She squeezed his shoulder slightly and he accepted it with a stoic face.

"What's that?" he asked, perhaps hoping to get onto a different topic, pointing at a large billboard sign.

"That, my dear Reg," Alex said, grinning. "Is a movie theater." It felt odd to be the one doing all the explaining—no, it felt odd that Regulus should even ask questions. Regulus Black was mostly silent during classes and spoke whenever he had to answer a question. He never even confirmed an instruction with a professor and it was rare that he would stay behind to ask about anything; very rarely would he ask Alex to leave by herself so that he could ask Professor Binns something. It was always Alex who asked what something meant or why something other was that way, and Regulus always answered—without condescension but indeed with curiosity, as though it seemed inconceivable to him that anyone could even exist who did not already know what everyone knew.

Regulus's eyes widened slightly, only very slightly. "You mean one of those moving pictures that goes on for hours?" he asked.

"With sound," Alex said with a dry flourish. Regulus stood still on the street and stared at the building like a dog that encountered a new person for the first time and couldn't decide whether to bark at the person or not.

"We could go there some other time," Alex said, trying to sound reassuring for some reason. Regulus nodded. "I don't know what's good, though—"

"Alex!" a high voice called from across the street and Alex felt herself stiffen despite the three-year-long gap since she had last heard the voice. A pretty girl of fourteen waved excitedly, her long hair blowing gently in the summer breeze. The dress she wore showed off her slim, long legs and arms and her face seemed unmarred by the sun. Alex wondered, not for the first time, how Nancy Crawford could always look like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Next to her stood several girls that Alex recognized from primary, looking far too curious and enthusiastic to make her feel comfortable.

"Friends?" Regulus asked in a low voice next to her.

"Eh," Alex said. "Imagine that she's Potter and I'm Severus. Makes sense?"

Regulus's eyebrows slowly went up. "Oh," he said simply.

"There was one time when I turned her hair pink," Alex recalled; it was the only time Nancy's hair was anything less than perfect. She'd accused Alex, of course, saying that somehow the town's oddball had managed to do it, but no adult could conceive how a child could turn Nancy's thick, shiny locks into bristly pink. The group of girls in question were now crossing the street toward them and Alex sighed, wondering what kind of atrocities the girl would spit her way today. They had not spoken since she'd left for Hogwarts—and for a reason.

"It's been _such_ a long time!" Nancy exclaimed when she reached where they were standing, hugging Alex tightly. Surprised, Alex merely stood there, her eyes wide in alarm, looking for Regulus. He was observing the girls carefully at a distance, as though he was afraid to go near them. Alex wondered if his aloofness was due to their being Muggles or their being girls. Neither of the reasons pleased her particularly.

"Yeah," she managed to stutter out. A whiff of perfume hit her nose and Alex felt her nose twitch involuntarily. "Hi, hi, hello," she said, looking at the girls behind Nancy. The muttered out their hellos, though not as enthusiastically as the gang leader, who seemed to be sizing her up and finding the results somewhat displeasing.

"We were _so_ devastated when we heard that you were going to a different school," Nancy said. "Didn't think your mum could afford it, and all—"

"Right." The initial shock of the strong perfume and aggressive hug had worn out and Alex could now look around more clearly. "You haven't changed a bit," she said sincerely.

Nancy smiled a dazzling smile. "Oh, I've grown quite a bit," she said, and the girls behind her giggled. Alex stifled an inward groan. People two blocks away from them could probably see Nancy Crawford's rather well endowed assets and Alex had no intention to acknowledge the fact, whether in front of or without Regulus, who was now looking at Nancy curiously.

Alex rolled her eyes inwardly. Apparently Regulus was no better than any other fourteen-year-old.

"So?" Nancy said, eyeing Regulus suggestively.

Alex raised her eyebrows blandly. "So what?" she asked, playing dumb.

"Is he a friend from your school?" a girl next to Nancy asked, Susan Taylor, and another girl snickered.

"Oh please," she said. "As if _that_ could snag _that_." Alex felt her face heat up and, next to her, Regulus started oddly, as though the idea caught him by surprise. This motion brought a more pronounced bout of snickers and Alex rolled her eyes this time, trying not to show that the comment stung.

"Nancy, meet Regulus Black. I'm sure you two get on swimmingly," Alex said, pushing Regulus on his back more forcefully than she needed to. Nancy offered her hand and Regulus shook it dumbly.

"Nancy Crawford, lovely to meet you," she said, her eyes never leaving his face.

Regulus cleared his throat. "A pleasure," he replied, but didn't say anything further.

"So, Regulus," Nancy began. "May I call you Regulus? It sounds very… foreign," a half-embarrassed face with a step forward and Alex resisted the urge to turn her hair into another bright color—rainbow, perhaps.

"I'm British," Regulus said succinctly. "Regulus is fine."

Nancy's eyes lit up. "You are?" Another step closer. Regulus took an involuntary step back and Alex held back a snicker of her own. Poor Regulus, feeling the full charm of the town's _belle_. "And where are you from? London? You have the accent."

"I—" Regulus began, his eyes now frantically trying to catch Alex's, but Alex merely quirked her eyebrow. She was not going to get involved with Nancy Crawford—not even for Regulus. Really, he shouldn't have stared so much anyway.

"Do you play sports?" Susan asked and a flash of annoyance flashed across Nancy's face before it smoothed itself into another dazzling smile.

"I couldn't help but notice…" she trailed off, bringing a hand to Regulus's upper arm and leaving a trail with her forefinger. Regulus flinched away and Nancy pouted, as though that was the most adorable thing that she'd ever seen.

"We should—" she began, but—

"Oi!" a voice shouted from down the street. "What do you think you're doing?" All of their heads whipped to the direction and Alex failed to stifle a groan this time. This could not be happening. One of her dreaded nightmares was now fulfilling itself. She didn't want Regulus to meet her former classmates—she didn't want them to have anything to do with who she was now, or Regulus, or even her mother. But now they were, squeezing their way into her life, and it had to be the day Regulus came to town. She bit her lip. Next to her Regulus stirred, sensing trouble.

"That's my girlfriend, you fucking shithead." Tom Ramsay was exactly as Alex remembered—tall, lovely eyes, and the most terrible grin one could see on the most angelic face. She might have once had a thing for him—no, that was, she was eight and he was easily the handsomest boy in the entire school. But he never gave her a thought and that was that. As she got older she'd heard rumors—the girls he kissed, the things he would do after school in the alleyway—but they were just rumors, or so Alex would rather believe. But now Alex could swear that she smelled cigarette as he drew closer with a couple of other guys—also from primary, Alex noticed glumly, and there was one or two that she didn't recognize, but it didn't matter now.

Regulus, unfortunately, knew none of the local teenager politics. "I beg your pardon?" he asked politely, altogether far too politely, and Alex could see him beginning to reach into his pocket out of habit. She grabbed his hand without thinking to stop him and Regulus, instantly aware of their surroundings, straightened and smiled at Ramsay.

"I regret causing a misunderstanding," he said, "but it was your _girlfriend_ who approached me. Take better care of her next time." He turned around to go, pulling Alex with him. Unfortunately, Ramsay noticed her for the first time.

" _Wilson_?" he said incredulously. Alex smiled painfully as Regulus stopped beside her.

"Ramsay," she said levelly, looking around at the group. The girls had distanced themselves from the scene a bit, but Nancy found her place next to Ramsay, smirking. Ramsay advanced on them, his cronies in tow. Regulus sighed.

"It _is_ you," Ramsay said slowly, looking up and down at her with an appreciative gaze that Alex made her want to sink into the ground and possibly never come up. "Blimey, I thought you were dead, or something."

"Certainly a better alternative to _this_ ," Nancy said sweetly, giving her a disparaging glance. Regulus raised a disbelieving eyebrow and looked at Alex, who avoided his gaze.

"Quite alive," Alex said, a humorless smile on her face.

"We'd better hurry, Alex," Regulus said loudly, pulling on her hand again. She realized that he hadn't let it go yet and tried to pull her hand free, but Regulus's grasp was stronger than she thought. "Or we'd be late."

"Who's that?" Ramsay said, nodding toward Regulus.

"None of your business," Regulus snapped. "Go your own way and we'll go ours." He started to pull Alex again, but Ramsay stepped in front of him.

"I don't know who you think you are," he drawled, "but here we apologize when you make a move on someone else's girl." He shoved Regulus on the shoulder. Ramsay was bigger than Regulus, Alex realized with a sinking feeling. She didn't know how good Regulus was at physical confrontation; he'd certainly grown up from the incident in the owlery during first year, but she doubted that he could handle Ramsay, the terrorizing bully, without a wand.

Unfortunately, Regulus now seemed genuinely irritated. "Clearly her own _boyfriend_ wasn't enough," he taunted. "I can't apologize for _that_ , now, can I?" Nancy was smiling—her eyes shined—enjoying the fact that two boys were apparently fighting over her, Next to Ramsay someone sniggered and Ramsay's nostrils flared.

"Listen, arsehole," he whispered. "I don't care if you go to some fancy boarding school, you and your pretty little face can either leave now or—"

"Or what," Regulus said, his face deadpan.

"Reg," Alex muttered, her voice low. "We should probably leave. Now." She tugged at his hand but he didn't budge.

"Listen to your girlfriend, Reggie-poo," Ramsay grinned. "Maybe if you're a good boy, the whore might even suck you off."

"Aw, I don't think he knew, Tommy" Nancy crooned, laughing. "Our dear Alex is probably even easier than her dear old mom—" Regulus's eyes flared.

What happened next was something that Alex would rather not remember. Regulus lunged—quite artfully, she had to admit—at Ramsay, who was surprised at this unexpected attack and was quickly backed against the wall. Most of them stood shocked as the pretty little face landed the first punch on the nose. Alex heard something crack and winced internally. This couldn't turn out well.

If Regulus had speed, Ramsay had experience—and considerablely more weight. The situation was quickly reversed and his fist connected with Regulus's eye, who feinted left but didn't manage to avoid the blow completely. Ramsay grabbed for Regulus's neck, who in turn used the smaller distance between them to jab at Ramsay's stomach, but not before another blow came. The boys had created a small circle around them and even girls peered from behind, looking grossly fascinated. Ramsay let out an animalistic, feral growl and Regulus was visibly panting. People on the street had mysteriously disappeared, having sensed trouble, and observed safely from behind the window glass panels. Alex stood there, horrified. Her body refused to move—she should have known what to do, she was supposed to be smarter, wiser than she used to be, but she stood there, transfixed, torn, utterly confused, stupefied by old memories resurfacing, memories that she hadn't visited in a while, memories that she would rather not get back to. Another blow came and there was a sharp intake of breath.

"What's going on here?" A loud, calm voice broke her reverie and Alex had never been so glad to hear that voice. Mr. Whitman made his way through the small circle, looking as neat and normal as ever. It had been a while since Alex had talked to Mr. Whitman face to face, only occasionally running into him at stores whenever she was running an errand. He hadn't changed much, Alex realized. The lines at the corner of his eyes may have deepened, and Alex could see silver streaks in his brown hair, but he was still the annoying man who had far too much presence in her mother's life.

And she had never been so relieved to see him.

"Mr. Whitman," Nancy began immediately in a whiny voice. "Ramsay didn't do anything—"

"I'm sure he didn't," Mr. Whitman said distractedly before placing himself between the fighting pair. "Break it up, you two. The fight's over."

"Don't. Touch. Me." Regulus hissed, his gaze dark on Mr. Whitman's face. He tried to shake his hands off his shoulders, but Mr. Whitman was persistent. His nose was bloody.

Ramsay was more familiar with the routine and straightened immediately. "Good evening, Mr. Whitman," he said. Mr. Whitman ignored him.

"Go home. All of you," he merely said, still holding on to Regulus.

"But—" Nancy began.

"Now," he repeated authoritatively and, to Alex's surprise and distaste, they all dispersed, one by one, Ramsay giving Regulus a threatening glare when he thought Mr. Whitman wasn't looking.

Regulus merely spat on the curbside.

"Mr. Whitman, I—" Alex began but he waved her off.

"It's alright, Alex," he said. "People who fight with Thomas Ramsay rarely start the fight itself." He examined Regulus's nose. "You'd better get that treated, young man."

Regulus didn't answer. Mr. Whitman sighed.

"Sophia told me that she was going to have a friend of yours come over," Mr. Whitman said to Alex. "But if I were you, I'd avoid the evening. You know how they can get." Alex nodded, feeling grateful and guilty. The man she officially labeled as the biggest threat to her family happiness had just gotten them out of a tight spot. She cleared her throat.

"I—thanks, Mr. Whitman," she said. He nodded awkwardly and waved before quickly departing. She turned to Regulus, who had been watching the entire exchange silently.

"Reg, I'm sorry—" she began, but Regulus cut her off.

"What are you, mental?"

The question threw her off guard. Regulus rarely used expletives, and one as casual as this was almost unheard of from his mouth. Alex stared at him in shock, but he seemed too enraged to care.

"You—" he began, but, evidently far too gone and lost for words, let out a frustrated sound that sounded almost like a growl. "You're Alexandra Wilson, the _best_ student at Defense Against Dark Arts in our year—"

Alex looked around nervously. People were still in the shops and the faces weren't pressed against the window now, but someone could hear. "Regulus, you might want to keep your voice down—"

"You could make the Quidditch team if everyone else wasn't being such a git about girls!" he shouted. "And Merlin _forbid_ that you ever lose a game of chess to anyone."

"Reg—" Alex began, now beginning to feel embarrassed.

"Stand up for yourself every once in a while!" Regulus's voice, if possible, grew even louder. "You're better than they could ever be, so why are you acting like you owe them something?"

Her eyes stung, but Alex turned her head, looking away. "Reg, that's enough," she said. Her quite words seemed to subdue Regulus—or perhaps he had simply vented enough—and Regulus also looked away, still looking slightly excitable.

"I'm sorry, it's not my business to interfere," he said stiffly and they slowly began to make their way home, an implicit understanding between them that whatever tour of the town was over for the day.

"It's a small town," Alex said, looking at the ground. "My mom appeared out of nowhere with me in tow without a father, and, well, they didn't really like that."

"Alex, they called you a—" Regulus stopped, apparently unable to repeat their words. He visibly struggled, his footsteps louder than usual. "Even about your mother, they—"

"It's like you said, isn't it?" Alex said, her voice falsely bright. "They're not worth it."

Regulus looked at her strangely. "Is that what Sophia Wilson taught you? To keep your head down?" Alex looked up to find Regulus looking her in that strange chastising, pitying way and her lips thinned.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, her voice sharper than she'd intended. Regulus sighed, a long, slow exhale of breath, but he didn't say anything anymore.

"Think my mom's had enough, anyhow," Alex muttered, feeling vaguely apologetic, as if she had to make excuses up for their situation and behavior. "She said she's going back to the wizarding world—will start working for _Transfiguration Today_ this fall. I don't know what made her change her mind, but—" she cleared her throat. "Hopefully it'll be fine."

Regulus didn't say anything. In fact, they remained silent their entire way back to her house and, whenever Alex pointed something out to show him, he merely nodded or sounded a monosyllabic answer. He was still frowning when they reached the doorstep, his brows furrowed, apparently deep in thought. Alex could hear the smell of tomato and chicken coming from the kitchen. She sighed. She wasn't really in the mood to explain anything now.

"Hi mom, we're home," she said casually. Her mother turned around and saw her. Both of them.

"What happened?" was her first response. Alex merely motioned Regulus to follow her, but Sophia Wilson followed them, looking more perturbed than Alex thought she would be. She thought her mother would find some dim pleasure in seeing his face marred. She led them to the bathroom and took out some antiseptic and ointments.

"Sit," she said to Regulus, who sat on the bathtub wordlessly. Alex dabbed at his face with a wet towel and he winced.

"Alex, what happened?" her mother asked again, her voice stern, but it was Regulus who answered.

"We ran into some of her classmates from her school," he said conversationally. "I don't recall hearing about them, Alex; you rarely tell me about—what do you call it again?—primary school."

"It was Nancy and Ramsay and the entire gang," Alex sighed, trying to wash the towel. Her mother brushed past her and Alex looked up, startled, as she pointed her wand at Regulus. Alex opened her mouth to say something, but Sophia Wilson merely tapped on his nose. Regulus didn't wince this time, but a crease appeared between his brows and his fists clenched.

" _Episkey_ —should be pretty familiar to a Seeker, right?" her mother said.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, looking down. Alex didn't know which was stranger, the sight of her mother using her wand or Regulus's actual politeness. Sophia Wilson regarded him carefully.

"I suppose I'l have to tell your parents about this," she said. Regulus looked up.

"No," he said. "They have enough to think about as it is, Ms. Wilson. They don't need to know."

Her mother's lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "But surely, they would want to know that their son was hit by a Muggle boy. Especially one that is not the best of its kind."

"I started it," Regulus muttered.

Sophia Wilsons' eyebrow raised. "Then I'm certain that they'll be proud of you," she said snidely, and Alex didn't almost recognize the expression on her mother's face.

"That's enough," she snapped, feeling her eyes sting again. "Mom, you don't even know what happened, and you're being unfair—Regulus was just trying to help—"

"Help? And his way of helping was to start a fistfight?" Her mother's voice grew higher. "Doesn't it surprise you, Alex, that it hasn't been even an hour since he's arrived and he's already picked a fight with a Muggle?"

"Then do you think that Alex should just _stand_ whatever vile words that boy throws her way?" Regulus's voice was just as sharp. "If he'd been another pureblood wizard I wouldn't have let it go."

"Perhaps not, but you would've chosen violence as the last resort had that been the case,"Sophia Wilson answered. Regulus's eyes flashed and Alex felt her anxiety rise. This just felt like another fight that she couldn't intervene but a fight that she was still dragged into and she just felt too tired.

"Mom, you're arguing with my friend. My _friend_ ," she emphasized, silently adding, _who's twenty years younger than you_. "And Reg, thank you for defending me—" her mother snorted— "but you can't get angry over things like that this easily. This isn't your fight." Regulus's lips were tightly closed and Alex felt helpless standing between them. She couldn't please anyone either way—couldn't one of them relent and understand?

"It won't happen again," Alex said, and it felt like she was trying to convince herself. "I promise." Without further argument, Sophia Wilson left—but not before giving Regulus a withering glance. Regulus remained seated stoically, looking as expressionless as he did whenever he had to share a compartment on a train with the rest of the Slytherin house.

Alex sighed and dabbed antiseptic on the cuts on his face with a cotton ball. The scratch he'd gotten back home was the biggest by far, but there were several minor wounds that Sophia Wilson hadn't tended to. Regulus was silent.

"I don't think you'll need a band-aid," Alex decided after examining his face. "I hope it heals quickly, though. Can't really explain to your mother where you got them." Regulus nodded.

"I'm sorry, Reg," Alex said sadly. "It was a lousy way to start your stay."

"Perhaps I should leave," Regulus said finally, his voice thicker than usual. "I think I've overstayed my welcome already."

Alex felt panic rise within her, knowing there was truth in his words. "No, no, don't be silly," Alex said, not wanting to see the look that she must have in her eyes. "You're welcome here. Of course you are."


	11. Chapter 11

Regulus stayed at the house for a week and a half which was, by Sophia Wilson's opinion, far too long for anyone's good. She knew the boy had enough sense and tact to see that as far as she was concerned, he was entirely unwelcome. He mostly kept to himself, she could see, and did not ask her for anything unless he absolutely needed to; she suspected that he consulted Alex on most matters. And it was not that he necessarily engaged in pointless harmful activities—quite the opposite, in fact. The boy was rather quiet, much quieter than she remembered his older brother being from Ollivander's, a bit of an introvert, which, compounded with Black breeding, made him absolutely detestable in Sophia Wilson's eyes. Alex spent her mornings hiking into the fields with the boy—Sophia Wilson had to admit that if that boy had any redeemable qualities it was that he seemed to respect her daughter enough not to do anything inappropriate—and they either spent their afternoons working on their summer homework or occasionally going into town to buy groceries or, as it happened once, to watch a movie. The evenings were even quieter, when the boy worked in the garden—apparently he was good in herbology, or so Alex said—or read one of the books he brought. Nothing dangerous, Sophia Wilson had to admit from her cursory glance at the titles, but not entirely innocuous, either. What kind of a fourteen-year-old boy wanted to read a six-hundred-page long _The Origin of Spells_ by Chadwick Dabsworth, Sophia Wilson could only shudder to imagine. That boy even tried to help Alex with cleaning after meals—unsuccessfully, she noted with some satisfaction. A rich boy, Sophia knew, unaccustomed to any housework, could hardly be responsible.

Sophia Wilson knew that there would be a limit to Alex's naïveté. She knew that Alex disagreed with the boy on certain matters, but she was also worried that Alex valued their supposed _friendship_ more than her own values. Alex was—she was stubborn, and steadfast, but not entirely principled. She didn't have Sophia's own upbringing, her "blood-traitor" family and a stern father who guided his children's moral principals. Alex was too accomodating, going back and forth between opinions, agreeing to some and disagreeing to others, trying to mold some things to suit her own situation and circumstance.

Something that she took after her father.

Sophia Wilson sighed.

Sometimes she wondered if she was being too inflexible, about so many things—about her choice of friends, when Sophia knew that being a Slytherin automatically qualified your possible candidates of friends to those within the house. She had refused to tell her daughter anything about the father's identity of whereabouts despite her daughter's questions after first year—Alex had stopped asking after she went back to Hogwarts for her second year, apparently aware, after a bout of questioning and tears, that her mother wasn't going to give in. Sophia Wilson wouldn't be surprised if Alex had searched the entire Hogwarts library for clues. She had initially planned, after Minerva McGonagall had barged into their lives, to tell her after she graduated—or at least when she became of age. By then Alex would have formed a separate identity from her parents, a set of principals which would guide her on her own way. She hadn't counted on the Sorting Hat to place Alex in Slytherin, and she hadn't counted on Fortune and Fate to foster a relationship between her daughter and that Black boy.

That boy again. Sophia looked out the window, where he and Alex were gathered around a small plant. A branch, actually, that the boy had taken from his own home garden. He said it was a rose and wanted to see if planting it in the ground with sufficient nutrients and water could induce it to take its roots elsewhere. A magical rose, it said, each flower's shade just a little different from any other. He said it matter-of-factly, and Alex had listened with a mildly interested look, but it was just a matter of time.

It may not turn out that way, and Sophia Wilson prayed to Merlin that it wouldn't. It was not unheard of for a girl and a boy to be friends and nothing more. But what that Black boy saw in her daughter Sophia Wilson knew enough about the Pureblood society to understand. Alex was fresh, naïve, kind, indifferent—just different enough from those he was accustomed to seeing, who saw him only as a Black child who may benefit their cause. A political mean, if nothing else, and although friendships could form in such conditions, true affection was rare. The strong unity that the Slytherin house may be true, but outside of school was a different story, and whether Salazar had planned it or not, the house was filled with the likes of him—wealthy, uncaring of the dangers and the pain of the world, and ultimately irresponsible. He was still young, fourteen, and he seemed to be one of those who develops somewhat late; he was already quite tall, his shoulders getting broader, his voice lower, but his behavior suggested that of a boy than that of a young man who saw girls as preys. Objects to chase after. But inevitably the change will come, both in himself and her daughter.

Sophia Wilson hoped not. Her daughter's distaste for boys—developed from years of bad experience in primary school—might just be enough to steer her clear from any such danger. But she of all people knew what it was like to look at someone one day whom she'd known for several years without any special regard and then to realize just how much significance he held in her life…

So their friendship could not be. Sophia doubted that _his_ mother in any way approved of his relationship with a Wilson—there was, of course, always a possibility that Alex may turn out to be like one of them, but Walburga Black was probably too deranged to even consider the possibility. What worried Sophia the most was that the boy himself may be entertaining such notions, that he may have found an ally who was tied to him by genuine affection and whose ideas he could turn around after careful discussion over several years—such ally anyone would hope for. But Alex—Sophia hoped she had enough sense, that she would pull away if he demanded anything that wasn't natural for her. That she would be safe and happy.

Sophia Wilson looked down at a piece of parchment in her hand which had already begun to disintegrate. On it were the date and place of the next meeting. She was only fooling herself. No one was safe—this was war.

* * *

The rest of Regulus's stay went by rather quickly and he left her home without fanfare. Alex remembered with some fondness the way he had stumbled over everything the last week and a half—from his hesitant coin counting as the cashier impatiently huffed at the befuddled fourteen-year-old, who was attempting to figure out the Muggle monetary system, to his surprised and alarmed face once the movie started. It was _Death on the Oriental Express_ and neither of them understood much of the reference, but both came out convinced that there were many ways to violence.

If only.

Alex didn't think much on it. Her mother was too pleased when he left, and Alex wished that she could counter her with physical evidence that he wasn't so bad, but she couldn't.

Regulus hadn't written at her during summer. Alex had tried not to dwell upon it, knowing that there might be a thousand reasons why he couldn't write a word—perhaps he was sick—perhaps his mother was sick—perhaps Edge and Barney fell ill—perhaps the owls were confiscated—perhaps Regulus was trapped in an Egyptian pyramid after days of hunting and was starving inside the ancient tomb. None of them seemed more probable than the one before. But she had other things to occupy her summer than to wait for her friend's letter; after all, Leila wrote every once in a while, and even Rebecca chimed in whenever she visited the Parkinson household. There was homework to be done and, other than that, she still had work to focus on (she had asked Mr. Moonson, a local shopkeeper and a bit of a recluse if she was being honest, if he needed help during the summer as he was getting older. Now she worked five days a week—basically, whenever the store was open—and could do inventory of all the products in the store in less than an hour), helping her mother with the housework, anything.

So Regulus may not have sent her a letter since he left. That could mean nothing.

Alex sometimes wondered if her mother intercepted any of his letters and hid them from her. But Alex discounted the possibility almost immediately; her mother may not approve of him, but she wouldn't go _that_ far. Another possibility—and this she feared the most—was that Regulus saw her for who she was and decided that he wanted nothing to do with her.

A ridiculous idea, she knew; Regulus had always known who she was. But—he'd never seen her at home. In a Muggle town where everyone would rather ignore the freak of the town—her. They would rather pretend that Alex didn't exist or, if they had to acknowledge her, treat her as a banal, docile, completely harmless creature that they needed not take to long to consider. This wasn't her. Alex knew that she was more than just a nameless person. But he'd seen in her a person who simply stood there as others attacked her. A weakling. Why couldn't she stand up for herself?

It was easy for Regulus to say. A Black—Alex now understood what that meant now, it was a pardon, it was a get out the jail free card, it was a permission and a right and a bit of a restrain—a Black, not the direct heir, but a male Black, an increasingly handsome one at that, sufficiently talented and more than intelligent, Regulus was assured of his prestige wherever he went—within the Slytherin circle, that was, but Regulus rarely if not never ventured outside their circle of acquaintances. He could treat everyone with ease, meet every jest with a witty comment, combat any antagonism thrown his way because, in the end, it was his right to be treated with respect. And he expected this respect. A trait that, Alex knew, most people outside Slytherin found proud and infuriating.

So the Slytherin Prince didn't want to have to do anything with _her_ , whose reasonable intelligence people acknowledged inside the school but whose vague parentage—Rebecca still held on to the theory that Sophia Wilson had run off with a Muggle—and untrustworthy name most Slytherins found… questionable. The Wilson name meant little to her—her cousin, Ben, had not greeted her once in the hallway since she'd enrolled, and Alex had not seen her uncle Charles since her first ride on Hogwarts Express. She didn't care to be branded as a bloodtraitor or a pureblood. Neither said anything about who she was.

Who she was, Alex could only guess. The word Darkhider still haunted her in the nights the moment before she fell asleep, when Alex felt as though she could finally grasp the truth of the matter, when everything in the world seemed possible, the moment before she lost her consciousness. But what could she do—go on a dangerous search? Even Gallert Grindelwald was unsuccessful, Bathilda Bagshot wrote. She wasn't sure how Bagshot would know about Grindelwald's activities or motives, but she presumed that a distinguished historian would know what she's talking about. And even if Bagshot was wrong, even if the Conservato did exist, she wouldn't have the first clue where to begin her search.

It was not as if she hadn't bothered to look around; she'd consulted the enormous catalogue of the Hogwarts library, hoping to find books about Darkhiders or Conservato. The results came out empty, which could mean that either no book was written about them or that they were all mentioned in passing, like in Bagshot's thick volume. She had looked on countless books on legends and myths, but to no avail. Regulus had helped sometimes, of course—

Alex frowned. Regulus again.

She wasn't blind—she could see who she was and who he was clearly enough. The friendship between the was unlikely to begin with and even Leila had made several noncommittal comments about it over the years, drawling, for instance, that Regulus and Alex had a permanent desk reserved in the Hogwarts library. The boys made out of it what they would; Avery and Rosier sniggered and thought Regulus was "up for something new," an insult that Alex chose not to acknowledge. Snape couldn't care less about their relationship except for the occasional raise of the eyebrows that showed his—what, consideration of a new idea? His friendship with the Muggleborn Lily Evans was well-known throughout the Slytherin house, which put him in even a more precarious position than Alex was in. Mulciber, along with Malfoy and most of the Slytherins, thought it was just another stage; Regulus would grow out of it soon enough and focus on what was important. Regulus and she herself had never discussed the topic—they weren't the type to discuss relationships—and Alex began to wonder if it would've been better if they had.

Alex wondered if it was the war, or if it was the Slytherin house. People didn't go around wondering when friendship was going to come to an end, did they? The Marauders—she thought disparagingly, but with some wistfulness—they wouldn't wonder when one would desert the other, or when their friendship would come to an end. Or was this insecurity hidden behind all relationships, always lurking about, ready to jump out any second at the smallest hint of weakness or chasm—an inevitable part, then, of any human relationship? Alex didn't want to believe it, but if so, she had to wonder if their friendship had reached an expiration date.

She was walking down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express thus contemplatively. She'd arrived rather late, the traffic being worse than usual near the station, and she'd just managed to jump into the train and wave back to her mother before the train departed. The trunk felt especially heavy in her hands as she dragged it, the wheels making a dull, scratchy sound against the floor. The summer had passed quickly, and, with the exception of Regulus's visit, quietly. But she was back to school—surely, things will pick up—

"Alex!" a bright voice greeted her from behind and Alex looked around. Rebecca Goyle stood, waving slightly, positively beaming. Alex tried not to show skepticism on her face. Rebecca and she got along, yes, but beaming felt a little unnatural.

"Hullo," Alex said as Rebecca approached her. "How was your summer?"

"Oh, excellent, it was lovely," Rebecca said, now leading her somewhere. Alex followed mutedly. Usually Regulus and she found an empty compartment together—in fact, she had been on a search for him—but she wasn't sure if that would happen this year as well, especially considering his odd reticence. "Mother and I spent a month in southern France—a lovely village there, you know, mostly wizards, and there was a ball—sorry that you couldn't attend, by the way—" Perhaps a more correct phrasing would be that she wasn't invited, but Alex decided not to make the correction. It was taken for granted that the Slytherins spent considerable time outside of school—at least, those who were well-connected, that was. People like her or Severus Snape were nominal Slytherins only, belonging to the house but not the community. Alex had come to accept the fact that, as far as the pureblood society was concerned, she was an outsider. It just sometimes felt strange to think of Regulus as a part of the pureblood society, when he spent most of his time in the library studying with her, but that didn't mean much…

"This is our compartment," Rebecca announced. The compartment in fact was an entire carriage—or half of a carriage—inhabited entirely by Slytherins, as far as Alex could discern. There was Marcus Flint, the fifth year Chaser, along with Rebecca and Leila's brothers, Gregory Goyle and Ethan Parkinson, Mulciber, Avery, Rosier—Regulus. No Snape, but of course he wasn't here.

The gang in question were sitting by the window, looking far jollier than Alex remembered seeing them in some time. They were playing a game of exploding snap and even Regulus had joined in, looking as much engaged as he would be observing a game of Quidditch. Rebecca watched them with her eyes twinkling and Alex began to understand why she was in such a great mood. She pursed her lips; Regulus could sit with whomever he wished—it was not as if he was obligated or forced to sit with her. Wordlessly, she put her trunk along with the rest and followed her as Rebecca sat on a seat closest to the other fourth-years. Leila looked up from the game, looking mildly interested.

"Hello, Alex," she said evenly. "You've changed a bit."

Alex frowned in incomprehension. "I'm sorry?" she said, sitting down next to her. Leila she'd grown rather fond of, despite her frequent caustic remarks; she was a clever conversationalist and a rather loyal housemate.

Leila smirked, mirth dancing in her eyes. "Nothing," she said. "How was your summer?"

Alex recounted with some revision her version of the summer and Leila listened quietly. She in turn had spent some time with her grandparents in Germany, where her paternal grandmother was from, and made much good use of her time there, making acquaintances, meeting her relatives for the first time, and such. Alex nodded, listening as carefully as she could, but her eyes made their way to Regulus's direction before she quickly reigned them back in like errant horses. He looked well, which both relieved and angered her. Regulus didn't look thin, his skin was healthy, the cuts on his face had healed completely; in fact, he gave the exact impression of someone who had spent a lovely, relaxing summer holiday. If nothing had happened to him, then, why hadn't he written back?

As if Regulus had heard her question, he turned his head toward her direction. Their gaze met for a fraction of a second. Alex expected a nod, a small smile, some sign of recognition, but none of them happened. His gaze was carefully blank as his eyes swept over the entire carriage before settling onto the game before him. Alex's brow furrowed.

"How far do you remember from what I've said?" Leila's voice drew her back and Alex looked at her, abashed.

"Sorry," she said contritely. "I was just a little distracted."

Leila raised her eyebrow, disbelieving. "Distracted. Sure."

"I was just—" Alex struggled for words, wondering exactly what was going on. What, her best friend was suddenly ignoring her?

"Trouble in the paradise?" Leila drawled in her usual knowing voice.

"What? No," Alex denied quickly, feeling the color creep up her cheeks. Ramsay's accusation that Regulus and she were involved that way appeared again in her mind and she tried to swish it away.

"You know it's not like that," Alex muttered.

"Well, someone _did_ get into paradise," Leila murmured. "Look."

Rebecca had meanwhile sat herself quite near Regulus. A third-year girl timidly approached, looking rather hopeful, and greeted him, who answered with a smile and some words. Alex couldn't hear anything, her hearing blurred by the noise inside the carriage, but she could see that the girl was visibly flustered. Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Rebecca was watching the exchange silently, her eyes shifting restlessly between Regulus and the third-year, her fingers twitching as though deprived of a specific purpose. Finally she intervened, calling Regulus's attention back to the game, giving the girl a pointed look. The girl in turn glared at Rebecca when Regulus had returned to the game. Next to her Leila snorted.

"What a farce," she said. Alex looked at her. Somehow she doubted that this dynamic wouldt stop outside of the train.

"Did you see? The princeling has been made the Quidditch captain," Leila continued. "Rebecca just fawned over it for the first five minutes, of course. It's just another example of nepotism, Malfoy's just trying to get on Black's good graces, with his new fiancée and all—" she huffed, apparently too indignant to speak further. Alex looked in surprise.

"Regulus's the new Quidditch captain?" she asked, perhaps a little too loudly. The boys turned in her direction and even Regulus looked blandly at her. Alex swallowed.

"Thought you already knew, Wilson," Rosier said, sniggering.

"Trouble in the paradise, Wilson?" Avery added. They burst into laughter. Regulus didn't say anything and Alex felt the former anger creep back in.

"Shut up, Avery," she snapped before turning back to Leila, but not before seeing a satisfied expression on Rebecca's face.

"Gits," Leila said lightly, turning her wand between her fingers. "Don't listen to them." Alex stared back at her, her eyes wild.

"Is that what everyone thinks?" she whispered. "That we're—that we're somehow involved that way—"

"Well, I don't think anyone's under the illusion that Regulus proposed to you, or anything like that," Leila said in her usual matter of fact voice and Alex felt her face heat up further. "But, you know, we sort of assumed that you've been, you know, acquainted."

" _Acquainted_?" The incredulity in her voice made her louder and Alex quickly lowered her voice, looking around. Thankfully, no one had turned her way this time. "What do you mean, _acquainted_?" The word sounded far dirtier than she knew its definition to be and Alex tried to suppress all the terrible possibilities in her mind. She did _not_ want to go down that road.

Leila looked at her, her face uncomprehending. "I mean, you do spend a lot of time together. Alone. We all figured that one of those study sessions might involve—well—a bit of snogging." Leila looked increasingly uncomfortable under Alex's wild gaze and Alex's alarm, in turn, increased as Leila went on.

"Snogging?" Alex whispered furiously. "What—we—I mean—we aren't—we _aren't_ —" she sputtered, lost for words. Leila finally drew backwards, as though she finally sensed that Alex was not in the best of states.

"Alright, alright, you aren't," she said placatingly. "Blimey, and there was Rosier who thought that you two were shagging—"

" _What_?" Alex practically yelled. This time several heads didn't turn around, but Alex was beyond caring at this point. "What do you— _does Regulus know about this_?" she whispered in a low voice and Leila looked around, cautious as ever.

"Probably," Leila said nonchalantly. "I mean, they're boys and they do talk about these sorts of things. More than we do, probably."

"I—" Alex looked around, frowning. "Is that what everyone's been thinking all this time?"

"Not everyone, of course," Leila said reasonably. "Rebecca for one bet that you didn't have a pound of girliness in you to make that possible. I, for once, agreed with her."

"Geez. Thanks a bunch," Alex said, sinking back into her seat, drawing her chin as close to her chest as possible.

"Why hadn't I known about all this?" she asked after a while, feeling suddenly irritated. Why was she the only one always being kept out of the loop?

Leila looked truly uncomfortable for the first time during their conversation. "Er—well, it's not something you just go around asking anyone, and, you know—" Leila decided not to say any more in words and Alex didn't need her to. Rumors like this only circulated amongst those who belonged and as far as the Slytherin house was concerned, she didn't.

"Fine," Alex muttered. "I don't care." It infuriated her that Regulus should know about it as well but chose not to mention it, but she let that part of the argument slide. Damn him for all she knew.

"We're just fourteen!" she burst out soon after, the irritation having grown only stronger. "What do fourteen-year-olds know about any of this?" Leila watched her silently, apparently declining to elaborate or explain.

"Rosier's a bloody idiot," she merely said, shaking her head. And that was the end of that.

* * *

Thus the fourth year began on a wrong note, and it seemed that things only got worse from there. Regulus had apparently found some resolve never to speak to her again, which was, in Alex's humble opinion, all fine and well. He could choose not to even look at her and instead make dull jokes with Rosier and smile at Rebecca all he wanted; she couldn't care less.

The classes themselves weren't entirely helpful in elevating her mood. Professor McGonagall, by far the strictest teacher at Hogwarts, stressed the importance of fourth year.

"In fourth year, you will begin to learn the basics that will be the foundation of your O.W.L.s and whatever magical career you may choose to pursue in the future," she said, swishing her cloak. Unlike Slughorn, however, McGonagall did look rather impressive as she stood in the front of the classroom imposingly, giving each student a hard stare. "This is no longer a child's play. So I would pay attention if I were you, Mr. Potter," she gave a pointed glare at James Potter, who had bewitched a chalk on the Transfiguration teacher's desk and had managed to write "Minny the Lion" and draw a rather small, cat-like lion with glasses on the chalkboard. Some of the Gryffindors snickered and McGonagall ignored them with a stiff back. Slytherins, on the other hand, stayed silent, knowing better than to cross Minerva McGonagall the wrong way—at least in front of her.

"On the same note," McGonagall continued, "I have decided to employ a seating chart this year. Fourth year students must have discipline. By that I mean not only paying attention in class—" a flick of her wand stopped a scroll of parchment, which Sirius Black had charmed to hover over McGonagall's head, held at the corners like a large, smiling mouth— "but also manners and getting along with everyone at school. And I mean everyone." Another pointed glare at Potter's direction, who simply looked away, his face nonchalant.

"The seating chart is hanging on the back of the classroom," McGonagall said. "Please be seated accordingly by the next lesson."

"She's a nutter, she is," Leila muttered as they began to pack up after class. "Slytherin with Gryffindor, she must have a death wish." One bright thing about this year, Alex had to admit, was that she and Leila had grown closer as Rebecca found more and more opportunities to find a spot next to her 'object of desire' (Leila's wording, not hers) and Alex found herself more and more avoided by the said person. Leila was not the most devoted student, and her grasp on the Five Laws of Brunswick could use some review, but she was an excellent commentator—a skill she'd hoped to apply as a Quidditch commentator, Alex knew, but they both doubted that McGonagall would accept a Slytherin for the role. They approached the dreaded chart, where excited twitter was already passing through the throng.

"What—" Leila, who had managed to worm through the crowd first, squinted, examining the chart. She frowned distastefully. "I have McKinnon. I suppose she's alright. You—you have—"

"Ugh," a disgruntled voice came from behind her. "I have Wilson."

"Black," Leila finished her sentence. "I'd say good luck, Alex, but your luck seems to have run out already." Apparently, Black heard this.

"Parkinson," he said sweetly. "Keep your large nose out of other people's business."

"I would be happier if I were you, Black," Leila said, just as sweetly. "Alex might actually help you _pay attention in class_ for once. You might learn what _discipline_ actually is." Her reference to McGonagall's words were unfortunately not lost on Black, who opened his mouth to make a retort. Alex grabbed her friend's wrist and began to pull.

"C'mon, we'd better get going," she said, and made their way out of the crowd before Black could say anything further.

"Miss Parkinson!" no one could miss her sharp tone that was more tightly wound than her hair. "If you could, please remain for a while." Alex made a move to leave the room, but Leila motioned her to stay. They went to the front where the stern professor was organizing her desk. The room quietened down as the students dispersed.

"I reviewed your application for the position as the commentator," McGonagall gave one of her typical unnerving gazes from behind her spectacles. "I was under the impression that you wished to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch Team."

"I did, Professor." Leila's face was carefully blank, and Alex felt sorry for her—she was bracing for the rejection already, not trying to show that McGonagall's question affected her.

"Why don't you try out for the team?"

"They won't accept girls, Professor." Leila's face was still blank. "I've spoken to Regulus Black, who's this year captain, but he told me that the boys would have none of it." The derision and frustration in her voice began to seep out and Alex frowned at a spot far away, trying not to seem too engaged in the conversation—after all, it was impolite to eavesdrop. But Regulus hadn't given Leila even a chance? They'd both agreed that Lucius Malfoy might be a decent flyer but, as far as judgement went, he was a giant prat who couldn't discern talent from failure. Had Regulus changed his mind since then?

"Hmm," McGonagall said. "We can't do anything about unofficial policies, of course."

"It's been around for less than thirty years," now exasperation was evident in Leila's voice. "Some of the best female players used to come from Slytherin. The boys are just being giant pain in the—" Alex nudged her hard in the ribs and Leila stopped momentarily, her nostrils flaring. Her breath was harsh.

"Sorry, Professor," Alex muttered, but McGonagall didn't seem offended. In fact, her thin lips twitched sporadically, as if she was trying to contain a smile.

"As I said, I reviewed your application, and I believe that you are the best candidate we have," McGonagall said, her voice placid. "You are aware that the first game is in less than two months?"

Leila nodded dumbly. Alex tried not to laugh out loud; the price on her face was priceless. Truly, she wanted to capture it and hang it on their dorm room wall forever as a reminder that even Leila Anthony Parkinson could be rendered speechless.

"I expect a fair and civilized commentary, Miss Parkinson." McGonagall's tone was stern, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her eyes. "Any favor given to a particular team would make you a less viable candidate for the next game. Do you understand this?" Again Leila nodded dumbly.

"That is all. Have a lovely afternoon, Miss Parkinson, Miss Wilson." Leila seemed rooted to the spot and Alex began to tug at her arm, at which Leila started, as though coming out of trance.

"I—thank you, thank you, Professor," Leila stuttered and, as if realizing her awkwardness, began to walk as fast as she could to the door to mask her embarrassment. Alex looked around and saw McGonagall actually smiling. When their eyes met, she nodded at her, a secret exchange. Alex smiled back.

Outside the corridor students were hurrying toward the Great Hall. Alex could smell the food, the rich aroma of meat and something sweet. Next to her Leila was walking but not really, her eyes unfocused, her eyes glazed.

"So," Alex said conversationally. "Still think she's a nutter?"

Leila looked back at her. A smile began to erupt on her face, at first slowly, almost indiscernibly. It soon grew wider and wider until it filled the entire cheeks and jaw. A wide, genuine smile shined at Alex and she found herself smiling with her.

"'Course," Leila said. "Best nutter there is."


	12. Chapter 12

Alex wasn't fond of Halloweens.

Perhaps that wasn't the best way to put it. She didn't mind them, but she would rather not be reminded of the day or what could happen on such day. The memory of her first Halloween at Hogwarts was not something that she wanted to relive. It seemed that, as the day drew closer and closer and the decorations around the castle grew more and more spectacular, the world was taunting her to remember the incident over and over again, goading her to do something about it and laughing at her inability to do so.

So it wasn't entirely unexplainable why she was grumbly and frowning as Leila dragged her from the dungeons the a few days before the holiday, muttering something about not being stupid.

"It's the first game in the season. _And_ you have to be there to support the team." _And listen to how I do_ , Alex could hear the silent addition.

"Just tell me how it went," Alex grumbled, wishing that she was curled up in her bed, doing some reading for Charms—they were on a particularly interesting unit on weight—or just lazing about. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do.

"Games lose half their importance when they're over," Leila replied

"Spoken like a true Quidditch commentator," Alex said dully.

"If you want, I can curse his sorry arse off the broomstick—but I want us to win." Alex frowned. Leila's sentiment and surprising amount of support made her gladder than she expected, but sometimes she did take it too far.

"There's no reason to curse anyone," she muttered as they entered the Great Hall. It was buzzing with excitement; even though most people didn't attend games when their own house wasn't playing (except for Slytherin versus Gryffindor, where the house of serpent waged a lonely battle against the combined will of the other three houses—and, of course, the final game), every house always seemed quite keen on how Slytherin was doing, or, more correctly, whether Slytherin lost or not.

The said house was sitting animatedly on their table, speculating excitedly about the match and making not-so-furtive bets across the table. The team was sitting by itself on the far left, looking a little more somber. Alex spotted Regulus almost immediately and withdrew her gaze—but not before Leila caught her looking.

"Sure about the curse?" she asked. Alex let out a hollow laugh.

Regulus was still not speaking to her—or looking at her or even greeting her. In fact, he stayed as far away as he possibly could without seeming rude; he never sat across from or next to her during meals; when their housemates moved between classes, he never walked beside her, always engaged in some conversation with one of the boys or, as it increasingly became, with Rebecca—and he pointedly ignored her during classes when chance had them working together. So Alex stuck to Leila and he was surrounded by everyone else.

"Let's not give up the possibility entirely," Alex suggested and Leila grinned crookedly.

"Certainly," she said, and they marched to their seats on the Slytherin table like comrades.

But even the keen eyes of Leila didn't keep Alex from sneaking glances at her former friend (is that what he was now?) every few minutes. Regulus seemed relatively calm despite the pressure of the first game, but Alex doubted that he wasn't aware of his situation as the new Quidditch Captain. Although no one challenged his captaincy or his competence, Alex knew that this game would be the measuring stick that other teams would hold the Slytherin team against: if the game went well, it would mean that the other teams would have to up their ante; if not, well, Regulus Black was just another unskilled, inexperienced Quidditch captain. Alex knew that he would try to prevent at all costs from making the latter impression.

Alex swallowed her pumpkin juice and stole another look at him when Leila was occupied talking to a second-year near them about the last year's records.

Regulus looked as pale as ever, his still boyish cheeks contrasting oddly with his dark, prominent brows that were scrunched in concentration. Ah. So he was nervous. He chewed mechanically, his smooth jaw moving in time to other people's chatter, and his long lashes, which she could see even from her seat, were fluttering frequently, creating an odd contrast with his hair, which stayed still in its neat elegance. His shoulders lifted slightly as he inhaled slowly through his straight, sharp nose. He extended his hand—long, thin fingers and square palm—toward his glass and Alex gazed, almost transfixed, at his neatly clipped nails and square fingertips.

Next to her, Leila poked at her cheek. Alex turned away, abashed.

"Sorry," she apologized, no knowing what she was apologizing for.

"If you want to apologize, apologize to Rebecca," Leila said. "She just came in."

Alex merely stared at the eggs and fruit in front of her, her lips thinning.

Rebecca had replaced Alex, it seemed, or perhaps it was more correct to say that Regulus had replaced Alex with Rebecca. She'd taken her previous spot next to him, sitting beside him during meals, during classes, in the library, in the corridor, in the—

Alex shook her head violently before stabbing at a piece of apple.

She didn't know why it bothered her, that Regulus should hang out with Rebecca. They were both from the same house and they'd known each other practically all their lives. And Rebecca was, Alex had to admit grudgingly, and not without a considerable amount of envy, already a beauty; her clear skin stretched across her face without a blemish, her golden tresses fell freely over her back, her round, blue eyes shined beneath a set of elegantly arched brows. Her nose was thin, straight, and unoffensive and her pink lips were wide and full. She was one of those girls who were naturally skinny and her petite figure, instead of making her appear childlike, emphasized the femininity of her body that the male population of the Slytherin house was apparently enamored with.

No, it wasn't only Regulus's sudden indifference to Alex that hurt; it was also his sudden interest in Rebecca, who was eons more attractive than she could ever hope to be and who had known Regulus for a far longer time than she had, that drove the final blow.

Alex swallowed distastefully. The reflection of her face on the glass didn't offer any consolation. She wasn't by all means ugly—in fact, Alex fancied at times that there was something noteworthy about her stern brows and intense, dark eyes—but she wasn't beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. Almost pretty, if she was being judicious. But her face seemed incapable of possessing the easy beauty that Rebecca flaunted. No, her face was too grave, too unforgiving. Even her body was ungraceful, far too tall and far too wide. Too strong.

She just wished that she never noticed Regulus that way. She'd always known that, considering the entire male population around the world, he was on the handsomer side, but it had not been a matter of great importance to her. Why that would suddenly change, Alex didn't know or understand, nor did she particularly wish to. She simply cursed again inwardly, chastising herself. This was useless emotion, self-criticism and envy and hurt and the pang in her heart that scarily resembled something that Alex was only beginning to understand—longing.

Rebecca was now talking to Regulus. Not that Alex noticed it immediately, or anything like that.

"So I should probably get going," Leila said. "McGonagall wants me early to go over a few rules. You sure you don't want to sit in the sound box with me?" Alex looked at her. Leila had asked her if she didn't want to sit with her in the commentator's box. Alex suspected that it would hurt her ears quite a bit and had declined. Looking at her mood now, however, perhaps she shouldn't have.

"Thanks," Alex said listlessly. "But I'll watch from the stands." Leila nodded and rose to leave. Alex waved her goodbye.

"Oi, Wilson," Rosier called from across the table.

"What?"

"Where's Parkinson going?"

Alex felt an unwilling grin creep up her face. Leila had avoided telling the rest of her housemates about her new hobby— _"what, so they can take that way from me, too?"_ she'd said—and it seemed like all of them were in for a bit of a nasty surprise.

"Dunno," Alex said. "We'll probably see her at the game, though. She never misses one."

* * *

The Ravenclaws performed unexpectedly badly—a fact that Leila had not failed to mention in her magnified voice across the Quidditch field (even Professor McGonagall seemed to agree with Leila's assessment of their playing as " _as dismal and pitiful as the drenched first-years before the Sorting ceremony_ " and that "merepeople _could do better_ ")—and Abbot, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, left the field visibly glowering and seething. The jubilant Slytherins gathered around the team, positively storming into the field and even lifting Regulus up their shoulders—the _Black Prince has done it_. Alex did not join them.

Now they were in the Common Room, and, for once, it was _loud_. Music blasted, amplified magically, from the wizard radio. Christina Warbeck, Alex noted humorlessly. Lovely. Butterbeer was flowing freely, and she thought she'd caught several students discreetly slipping something between hands, a flask of firewhiskey. Alex broke off a leg from a chocolate frog, nibbling on it thoughtfully. Most players had returned to the Common Room, but the captain had excused himself about doing some final organizing, the term he used for going over Altair Wymond's book. And she knew this because this was their tradition after each Quidditch game, but it seemed that the tradition was over now.

"Two hundred and seventy to forty," Marcus Flint bellowed across the Common Room. "Two hundred and seventy to forty."

"Yes, you giant oaf, we heard you the first time," Leila muttered, who was rather disheartened by the lack of response she received about her commentary. Several students had merely raised their eyebrows at her, as though they were gauging how loud a banshee would be. Alex patted her shoulder.

"It was very clever," Alex repeated for the twelfth time. "I liked it very much."

"I would find it more convincing if people actually remembered what I said," Leila said, taking a swig from her second bottle of Butterbeer.

"They're just really excited that we won, that's all," Alex said consolingly, and that much seemed to be true. People were dressed in silver and green, making the entire room look like an underwater cave.

"There he is!" Rabastan Lestrange, a burly fifth year, shouted. "Our very own Prince!"

He allowed himself to be slapped on the back and shoulders multiple times, grinning haughtily, looking self-satisfied. Alex doubted that he was actually satisfied—he never was after going over the book, finding every error and mistake that could have been avoided. But Alex supposed that two-seventy to forty wasn't something to overlook entirely. Even Leila seemed impressed.

"Nice feint, Black!" she shouted at him. He grinned back at her and mouthed something at her that was lost in the crowd. Alex ignored another stabbing pain at her heart. What nonsensical nonsense. She willed it to go away.

"Parkinson!" Rosier yelled, apparently having spotted her when she shouted. "Your commentary was horrible!"

"Sod off, Rosier!" Leila almost screamed before chugging the rest of the butterbeer. "Let's have another one," she said, leading Alex to the refreshment table.

"I don't know if that's wise—" Alex began, but Leila waved her off.

"Come on, there's nothing else to do." Her words were still coherent, but Alex noted that Leila's normally dark cheeks were now flushed red. Alex cleared her throat.

"Leila, I don't think—"

"Come one, Wilson, loosen up for once, you're no fun," Leila said, and Alex found it harder and harder to remain indulgent.

"Just look at Rebecca," Leila continued. "She's having the time of her life." Alex followed Leila's gaze to the other side of the room near the fireplace, where there was a loud cheer. Alex craned her neck to see. There was something on the armchair, her favorite armchair by the fireplace—

And there was Regulus, tangled inextricably with Rebecca. They were kissing.

There was no other way to describe it. Or, at least, not that Alex knew of. His arm was around her waist and one hand was cupping her cheek. Her fingers were knotted in his hair. Their lips met. Frequently. That _was_ kissing, was it not?

"Yup. Senseless snogging, right there," Leila swished her arms. Her whole body turned—was she drunk? Leila chuckled next to her. "You don't suppose I can ask Regulus how Rebecca is? I'm betting that her acclaimed skills more of a fluke than actual finesse—"

"I'm going to bed," Alex said abruptly, turning away to go.

"What? After that? No, no, no. You need a butterbeer. Or something stronger. I'm telling you, Lestrange's been looking at all night—"

"No thanks," Alex said, her face blank. "I'm tired. Good night." Without listening to further argument Alex turned her heels and walked away.

Regulus Black had taken a break from the senseless snogging—long enough for their eyes to meet for a split second. His eyes were blank, unrecognizing, cold. Alex pushed the door to the bedroom and closed it behind her securely before flinging herself onto the bed, hugging her pillow and blanket tightly.

Her eyes weren't wet. They couldn't be. They were just—her eyes were irritated, that was all. Something clawed at her throat, threatening to escape any second, and she swallowed it down, not wanting it to get the better of her. But the thing was insistent and kept crawling back up, making the back of her throat itch and hurt. Her head felt heavy and prickly and her eyes felt hotter than she'd known it to be in years.

She buried her face in the blanket, muffling the first sob.

How _could_ he?

* * *

On the day of Halloween was scheduled an excursion to Hogsmeade. Normally Alex would have looked forward to going through Honeydukes' selection of sweets, but she dreaded it now. What if she ran into _them_ —for they were they, and not he and she—or what if she even _saw_ them—

But, of course, Leila was having none of her silent mourning. Alex hadn't told her exactly why she was feeling down, but Leila guessed correctly enough.

"I swear, you look even more morose than Snape. And if you ask me, that's a crime by itself." Leila said briskly, dragging her out into the cold.

"I don't want to go to Hogsmeade," she muttered. Leila scoffed.

"Don't be stupid," Leila said. "It's Halloween. Just _imagine_ what kind of sweets Honeydukes would have." And Alex had to admit that she did like sweets.

"Bring some for me, then," Alex grumbled.

"Don't be stupid," Leila replied. "You never like the sweets I pick." And Alex had to admit that the last year's Christmas present from Leila—an assortment of sweets from Honeydukes—wasn't to her taste. Who actually liked blood-flavored candies or insect flavored Bertie Beans, Alex couldn't imagine. She thought they were more for novelty than actual enjoyment.

"Would you stop telling me to stop being stupid?" Alex said irritably. "I'm just tired." Which wasn't technically true. She'd gone to bed early last night, having finished her astronomy charts early. Again, it wasn't as if she had anything better to do—

"Oh come off it," Leila said briskly as their faces met the cold October air. Alex drew her chin closer to the scarf around her neck—a gray scarf that she'd had for almost three years. "You're just pissed about what happened this morning."

Alex refused to dignify this accusation with a denial. What happened this morning didn't even warrant her attention. Or so she repeated to herself.

"Do you think—" she began.

"Do I think they've shagged? Probably not. Although Rebecca wouldn't mind."

"Would you stop with the shagging part?" Alex's voice was louder than she intended and the onlookers looked at her strangely. Alex averted her gaze to the ground and Leila smirked next to her.

"You were thinking about it, though."

"Do you think they'll have that new butter beer flavor we've heard about?" Alex posed her original question. Apparently, Leila was going to have none of it.

"Come on," Leila. "You weren't bothered by it? Even a little?"

Alex's face darkened.

Rebecca was now practically glued to Regulus's side, and this morning was no different. Her arms draped over his shoulder, she pecked his cheeks every few seconds like an anxious hen. Alex had avoided looking at their direction. Alex didn't know what was more disturbing—that Regulus even knew how to be physical with someone, or that he was willing for it to occur openly.

"Shouldn't you be sad?" Alex asked instead. "I mean, she is your friend and she's been all but neglecting you but all past two months."

Leila wrinkled her nose. "If that's what her attention looks like, she can ignore me for her life." Indeed, they were walking not very far away, her arms tightly thrown about his waist. Regulus had a lazy hand laid on her shoulder, proclaiming for the world to see that Rebecca was his. Alex lifted her eyes to the sky, and then to the earth, and then restlessly looked around. Anywhere but there.

"Let's hurry," she muttered. "I'm cold." Leila sped up her pace without argument.

Madam Rosmerta regretted to inform the pair that the new flavors hadn't come in yet. The reviews for them, she said, weren't very promising.

"It's not really surprising," Leila said loudly as they found a small cove at Three Broomsticks, large tankards of butterbeer in their hands. For some reason Leila had gotten three and Alex hoped that Leila would be at least sober enough to walk to castle unaided when they came back to the castle. "I mean, I like pumpkin juice enough, and I do like butterbeer, but—"

"As evinced two days ago," Alex muttered. Rosier had managed to tease Leila at the party until she was barely able to hold on to her seventh bottle of butterbeer. She assumed that more went on between them after he'd pried the bottle out of her hands, but Alex didn't ask and Leila didn't offer any information. In any case, Leila woke up with a horrible headache and vowed never to do it again. Alex doubted that she would keep her word. The three tankards spoke for themselves.

"Like I said, you're no fun, Wilson," Leila said, taking a large gulp of her drink. Alex sipped at hers with caution. It was hot. But the creamy foam floating on top of the beer made her feel warmer and she felt the tension of the last few days ease within her a little.

"Parkinson!" a voice came from the entrance. It managed to ring through the crowd and Alex set down her butterbeer. She had a bad feeling about this.

"There you were." Rabastan Lestrange grinned down at them, having used his massive shoulder to shove himself through the crowd.

"Lestrange. Rosier." Leila acknowledged them with a nod at their direction and Alex had a sudden urge to call Leila by her surname. "What a surprise."

Somehow Alex doubted that this was a surprise. Again, the three tankards spoke for themselves.

"Indeed," Lestrange said, seating himself between Alex and Leila unbidden. "What a _pleasant_ surprise." Rosier sat himself on the opposite side.

"I wasn't expecting you two at all," Alex said with all honesty.

"Oh, we were just walking by, figured we'd stop by for a couple of butterbeers, why not," Lestrange said breezily. "And then we saw you by the window!" They were seated against the wall in the far corner of the shop, a busy, dense body of at least fifty Hogwarts students between themselves and the window.

"Right." Alex said.

"You don't mind, do you?" Lestrange said, smiling widely at her. Alex stared at his face, trying to look unperturbed and at ease. Inside she was anything but. His mouth was smiling—a cute smile, Alex had to admit—but she didn't know about his eyes, which weren't even crinkled at the corners. On the whole, a scary smile. If this was what she thought it was—and Alex fervently hoped that she was wrong, although she supposed that she was flattered in a weird, uncomfortable way—Alex wasn't sure if he was being honest about his intentions. If he was sincere about her.

"So what are you girls up to?" Rosier said, putting a casual arm around the back of Leila's chair, tilting his own back so that he was precariously balanced on the ancient wooden stool.

"Honeydukes, we think," Leila said casually. "Then Zonko's. Maybe we'll stop by one of the quill shops, I'm short on parchment."

"You can always borrow some of mine, you know." Rosier was positively whispering in Leila's ear, twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers. Alex watched, shocked. She figured that something must have happened after the party, but she hadn't figured how much. Rosier reached for the nearest full tankard and Leila slapped his hand away.

"That's mine, I'll have you know," she said snottily.

Rosier raised an amused eyebrow. "You already have one," he said.

"Yes, but I paid for both." She pushed the remaining tankard toward Lestrange. "For you. On me." Lestrange grinned and took a sip. Rosier rolled his eyes.

"So," Lestrange said. "Alex, isn't it? Rabastan Lestrange. Fifth year. I don't think we've been formally introduced." He offered his hand and Alex shook it numbly.

"Nice to meet you," she said, feeling shy despite herself. Rabastan nodded. They sat in awkward silence.

Apparently, Leila couldn't stand it any longer. "Rabastan's the keeper in the Quidditch team," she said. "We saw him a few days ago, didn't we?"

"I—yeah. Yeah. Congratulations—lovely job." Alex said. Her words felt odd. But what was she supposed to say in these situations? Besides, her attention hadn't been on the Keeper much anyway…

Rabastan grinned. "Thanks. Hey, tell that to Regulus, will you? He called us to practice yesterday. A _day_ after the game. At dawn. Muttering something about poor second defense. We don't _have_ a second defense." He shook his head. "Blimey, that kid will go far, but he's a bit mental, I tell you." Alex smiled tightly but didn't say anything. Merlin forbid that Regulus will listen to anything that she has to say now.

"You've been the Keeper for—two years, now, right?" Alex asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from that direction. Rabastan nodded.

"Since third year," he said. "Merlin, I was rubbish back then."

Alex desperately searched the back of her mind for any scrap of information that she could remember. She watched Quidditch with interest, but she didn't follow it with the same ferocity or fervor that Leila did. "But I thought you were quite good," she said. "Reg said that he—" she stopped, realizing that she was about to blurt out something that she knew she would regret. Across the table Leila raised her eyebrow. She'd been resting her head on Rosier's shoulder and it was a sight that Alex would rather not have seen.

"What?" Rabastan asked, looking a bit too interested. Alex swallowed.

" _Regulus_ said that he heard the chasers complimenting you," she lied. What Regulus had actually said was that Lestrange had a good hand-to-eye coordination but that he lacked concentration. But compliments rarely came from Regulus without some sort of caveat and she didn't really want to relate to Rabastan something that Regulus said that she had to take responsibility for later.

"Huh," Rabastan said. "I guess they've been talking behind my back. I've never heard a compliment, you see," he grinned at her again and Alex looked away, somewhat guilty.

"Are you finished? Let's go." Leila suddenly said standing up. She had indeed drunk two tankards of butterbeer—with some help from Rosier, Alex noted grimly. Rabastan had almost finished his but Alex was still nursing her half-full tankard.

"Wait—" Alex began.

"You go ahead if you're so impatient, then," Rabastan cut in. "We'll join you later at—Honeyduke?" Alex opened her mouth to protest again that that wasn't necessary, but Leila merely said "fine" and the two were left alone. Alex looked around awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. Rabastan seemed slightly more at ease, but not much after Rosier had gone.

"Regulus rarely talked about you, you know," he said finally. _Why was their conversation so oriented around Regulus?_ She thought irritably. Was their former friendship the only notable aspect about her?

"There's not much to talk about," Alex said. "Besides, he doesn't talk much."

Rabastan chuckled. "Then you should be there for one of our strategy meetings. He's almost unbearable." Alex could imagine. She'd experience him during many of his many rants as they looked at Altair Wymond's notebook together.

"Thought you were pretty close, though," he continued. "I've always seen you together in the library and Great Hall."

Alex looked up sharply at his face. There was no apparent malice on Rabastan's face, only curiosity and a bit of hesitancy that she couldn't quite place.

"We've had a bit of… of a falling out." She pulled at her sleeve harder. "I don't know. Meeting different people, I guess." Indicating at the table they were sitting around on, she smiled weakly at Rabastan, who smiled back not unkindly.

"Excellent," he said, and the relief in his tone made her frown. Why would he be relieved at all that she wasn't as close to Regulus as she used to be? Did he—

Alex visibly blanched at the notion. He didn't think that they were involved, did he?

Judging from Rabastan's expression, Alex knew he did.

She shook her head. Leila had told her as much, but she had only half-believed her. It seemed that plenty of people were serious enough about the idea.

"Let's go," Alex suggested as soon as she finished her butterbeer. "There are probably people waiting for seats, anyhow—" She stood up and pushed her chair back, beginning to push her way through the crowd.

"Alex?" a familiar voice said and Alex felt her slightly uplifted mood plummet to the ground. Actually, lower than the ground, to the center of the earth. She turned around slowly and found the smiling face of Rebecca Goyle looking at her. Alex forced on a smile. It probably looked like a grimace, she had no doubt. Behind her Rabastan stopped.

"Rabastan?" Surprise passed on Rebecca's face, followed by some sort of—understanding? "Oh," she said, a knowing look in her eyes.

Alex had no idea what that "oh" meant, but she didn't like it just the same. "Hey, Rebecca," she said.

"Hi." Rebecca turned around. "Regulus! Regulus, I'm here!" she waved frantically at the crowd before turning back to them again. "It's so crowded in here, isn't it? I suppose that it couldn't be helped, although I did ask Regulus to go to Madam Puddifoot's instead—it's more comfortable there, you know, and the seating's better—but he refused." Clearly this bothered her quite a bit. Rabastan nodded sympathetically, but when she'd turned around again, he whispered to Alex.

"Can't say I blame the bloke. Ever been?" Alex shook her head.

"Consider yourself lucky." Alex looked up at him, suddenly aware of the fact that Rabastan towered over her—a rare happening for her with most boys—and that he was very, very near.

"Well, let's just say it's about the fluffiest, flutteriest, pinkest place you'll ever see." His voice grew higher for the last several words, his hands clasped together in mock exaltation, and Alex laughed.

"Perfect for an afternoon of rendezvous with a knight in shining armor..." He made a dramatic gesture.

"I'll invite Nearly Headless Nick, then," Alex replied. He grinned.

"Exactly," he said. She didn't notice until then, but Rabastan had a slight dimple at the corner of his left mouth, making his smile lopsided…

"Lestrange," a cool voice said and Alex turned around. Regulus stood there with two bottles of butterbeer, Rebecca at his side. His face was unfathomable.

"Regulus," Rabastan sounded a tad unnaturally jolly. "My old boy. Or should I say cousin twice removed?"

"Cousin-in-law," Regulus said cooly. "But seeing as the wedding was five months ago, I'd say the point is moot, wouldn't you?"

"As you say, old boy," Rabastan said. Regulus merely gazed at him. Rabastan scratched his head and even Alex had to admit that, despite the fact that Regulus was smaller, his gaze was unnerving. Next to him Rebecca poked at Regulus's shoulder.

"We should sit down, Regulus," she said.

Regulus looked away briefly. "Right." They turned to go. "And Lestrange?"

Rabastan looked aghast. "What?"

Regulus didn't turn around. "The next practice is tomorrow at five." Rabastan's eyes widened in horror, but Regulus wasn't done.

"Don't be late again." And then he disappeared from the view completely.

Rabastan turned to face her. "Told you so," he said. "Mental." Alex didn't say anything and they left the tavern. The air had warmed up slightly but it was still chilly.

They didn't find Leila and Rosier at Honeydukes and although Alex wasn't surprised when she couldn't find them even in the blood-flavor candy section, she was a bit disappointed. But Rabastan was unexpectedly normal. She'd once heard from Rebecca that Bellatrix Black, Regulus's cousin, was betrothed to Rodolphus Lestrange and that the Lestrange were a big name when it came to anti-Muggle policies. She'd spoken approvingly, but it sounded as though some of the things the family was up to were extreme—tracking the wand activities of the Muggleborns, for instance, so that they wouldn't use their magic in front of their relatives (or so was the reason given), or even going as far as to de-populating several Muggle villages for the wizards' use only. But Rabastan didn't say anything about his family and Alex didn't feel like it was polite to ask. They'd known each other for less than a day, after all.

The Halloween dinner came more quickly than she thought it would and she found herself enjoying it more than she would. Rabastan had wordlessly sat down next to her and they spent the entire meal comparing different sauces and dishes. He mentioned in passing that the house-elves at his house were sometimes less competent than the house-elves at Hogwarts and joked that Dumbledore must have them by their throats for them to work so efficiently. That was probably the only glitch in an otherwise pleasant evening. Leila and Rosier were nowhere to be seen and, again, Alex did not want to know.

After dinner she quietly made her way through the throng and climbed the stairs deftly to the seventh floor West Tower. The owls were hooting peacefully by the dim moonlight and many of them, it seemed from the empty niches on the walls, had gone off to hunt. But the tiny barn owl was hooting dolefully in its usual spot right next to the sill, staring intently at her. Its gaze reminded her of someone she knew.

"There you are," she murmured, reaching into her pocket. Edge lifted his wings slightly, and the wind barely managed to ruffle his feathers. "Pumpkin pastry. Couldn't save much, but there always seem to be leftovers the breakfast after." Edge happily began to pick at the food on her palm, but stopped midway.

"You're not hungry?" Alex asked, and it flew up to where her head was, batting its small wings frantically before flying over to his niche. Alex drew closer, wondering why he was leading her there.

Inside the niche was another half-eaten pumpkin pastry, exactly like the one she held in her hand.


	13. Chapter 13

"So," Leila said casually. "I know it's been a while, but how is it going in your paradise?"

Alex observed her potion, noting its thickness by the size and duration of her the bubbles. It was perfect. Perhaps one day she'll explain to Leila that paradise isn't supposed to be used in that context, but Leila with all her curiosity in other people's affairs wasn't interested a bit in Muggles or Muggle studies and Alex figured that all attempt at explanation would be lost on her. She shrugged.

"That good, huh?" Another shrug.

"Rabastan's not bad, you know," Leila sounded reasonable—the way she always did when she was talking about someone other than herself. "Quite decent, actually." And Alex had to admit that Rabastan _was_ decent, in his own pureblood, conservative male sort of a way. He was energetic, which was more than what she could say for boys her year in the Slytherin house, and he wasn't afraid to make a fool of himself—a bit like James Potter, now that Alex came to think of it. He wasn't studious, exactly, but very few pureblood Slytherins were. Those who did study did it less for pleasure and more to save face—or to avoid the wrath of their parents. Surely the purebloods, the wizards with the most magical blood, couldn't possibly do worse than common Muggleborns and half-bloods. Rabastan seemed to study a fair amount for a fifth year, but Alex wondered if he wasn't too easily distracted.

 _Lestrange is an alright Keeper, but he lacks focus._

His words rang through her ears, unbidden, and Alex shook her head. It was impossible that he would have spoken them directly to her now—Regulus Black was a few tables away, having paired off with Snape and Rebecca. The boys were working silently on their potions, but Rebecca seemed to be having a few problems.

"Remember, by this point your potions must be dark violet! You have less than twenty minutes left!" Slughorn's voice boomed throughout the room and Alex exchanged a look of distaste with Leila. Leila's potion was pale mint.

"You forgot the WEED" Alex muttered with her mouth closed.

"What?" Leila whispered loudly. Alex looked around. Slughorn had 'oho'ed at Snape's potion and was now passing through the tables on the other side of the room, where the Hufflepuffs were diligently working.

"You forgot _the WEED_ ," Alex tried to mutter with her mouth closed.

"There's no weed in this potion, what on Merlin's soggy socks are you talking about—"

"Remember, this is an assessment!" Slughorn had crept to their table unnoticed and Alex jumped in her seat.

"And that means no talking." Slughorn looked at Alex, his jovial face somehow patronizing. Too used to his treatment by now, Alex merely smiled tightly and stirred her dark violet potion. Slughorn turned around to move on to the next table.

"And Miss Parkinson, for the future reference, the wondrous extracts endangered, or WEED for short, are the four main extracts used in counteractive potions that were exploited to the point where they are in danger of extinction. Professor Sprout was kind enough to lend us her own supply of one of these four extracts, which I believe that you yourselves had to grow in Herbology class. Desperately tricky, they are. But I heard that you were quite successful with yours, Mr. Black!" The said Mr. Black was apparently too absorbed in his potion, for he didn't even look up. Judging from the smoke rising from his cauldron, however, Alex judged that he was doing alright. Slughorn waddled away without further comment, apparently letting it drop that one of his favorite students failed to receive his compliment gratefully.

"Merlin, he's an arse in class," Leila muttered as they left the dungeons for Transfiguration. Wednesday schedule had always been the hardest.

"What, he's better with the Slug Club?" Alex asked incredulously. She wasn't invited, of course, but from Regulus's reactions whenever he came back from one of his parties, Alex had always assumed the worst. Regulus would fall face-down on the couch, groaning and refusing to talk until he'd had at least one chocolate frog. She would sometimes steal a leg or all four of them…

"No, he's as obnoxious as ever," Leila said promptly, "but at least he made those gatherings so he could boast on _purpose_ , you know? You sort of expect him to be a show-off. In class, though. That's just insufferable."

"You left without me," a teasingly petulant voice came from behind them and Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Well then, walk faster next time," Leila shot back, but Alex could tell that she was holding back a smile.

"Couldn't," Rosier said, putting an arm around Leila's shoulder. Alex wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to willingly have someone's arm put around you—to welcome it, in fact, as Leila was doing. She couldn't fathom it. "Old Sluggy wanted to know when I'll turn in my antidote essay."

Alex frowned. "That was due two weeks ago," she said.

Rosier shrugged. "Do I care? It's not as if I'll need potions in my life to survive."

Alex saw Leila bite her lip but not say anything. Rosier wasn't entirely wrong—most elite Pureblood children, unless they had some specific ambition, could probably live off their families' gold for the rest of their lives and then some, as long as they weren't too reckless with gambling or some other form of addiction. And Rosier apparently chose to ignore the fact that the Muggleborn Lily Evans was besting him left and right at Potions. Alex knew that Leila had no specific ambition outside Quidditch—she'd seen her hiding Quidditch magazines from Rebecca, who thought they were 'too violent ad manly'—but Leila at least made the effort to go to class and study. It seemed that it grated on her nerves that Rosier didn't.

"What's next?" Leila said next loudly, even though it was already three months into school and they had already memorized the entire schedule.

"Transfiguration with Gryffindors," Alex said promptly. She was looking forward to this class—they were working on the inherent properties of objects and how to change the outward shape while remaining true to the nature. Sounded simple enough, Alex knew, but it was one of the fundamental ideas that were the basis for a lot more complicated magic, such as becoming animagus. Apparently, the idea was that, while changing the outward appearance—that was, from a humanoid appearance to something more animalistic—the inherent nature, that is, the animalistic side of the spellcaster remained the same. She was looking forward to the class and her thoughts were otherwise occupied as she walked blindly next to a rather engrossed couple.

"So today," McGonagall said after a complicated thirty-minute lecture. "We will be turning a cushion into a pillow. It is a simple application, and you will be assigned a two feet essay on other possible applications by next Tuesday." With those words she sat down on her desk. The students hastily arranged the cushions in front of them and Alex tried to think of the exact difference between a cushion and a pillow.

Next to her Black merely sat back in his chair, his arms crossed behind his head. Alex tried not to let her annoyance show; yes, Black wasn't too bad in Transfiguration—usually accomplished a spell within the first dozen minutes or so—but couldn't he be less obnoxious about it? He spent the remainder of the class either charming small objects to fly around the room and thunk on Slytherins' head or, worse, watching Alex until she was too uncomfortable to even practice. He hardly needed to know that she had trouble with spells sometimes.

Unfortunately, Black showed no such consideration for her sensibilities today, either. And this time, he seemed even intent on talking to her, which both baffled and alarmed her. Attention from Marauders rarely signaled something good, especially when you were a Slytherin. One needed simply think of Theodor Nott, a fifth year Beater, who suffered from painful rashes for a week after he made fun of James Potter's Quidditch skills.

"So, Wilson," his mouth curled in an unpleasant way when he said her name, as though he disliked the sound of it. Alex ignored him and looked at her golden cushion. It was fluffy, a quality which a pillow would also possess. "I've got a question for you."

Alex wondered which would bring about a worse outcome: answering him or ignoring him. Neither sounded promising.

"What's up with you and my dear little brother?" Black's question wasn't exactly loud, but it wasn't exactly discreet, either. "I thought you two were joined at the hip."

"How is _that_ any business of yours?"Alex blurted out before she could even think and regretted it almost instantly. Black, however, seemed pleased at the opening.

"Dunno, my business as an older brother?" Black sounded nonchalant and Alex glared at him. She supposed that it would be pointless to tell him that Regulus the _younger brother_ suffered more than Black could possibly understand because of his errant older brother.

"I didn't realize that you two were actually related, Black," she said instead disdainfully.

Black's eyes flashed and Alex tried not to show alarm on her face. "Trying to say something, Wilson?" he said lowly. Alex decided that the best course of action was silence and shrugged. Black seemed to stew on that for a few minutes and then suddenly smiled. It wasn't a good, oh-look-there's-a-puppy smile. Alex frowned at her cushion. Get rid of the frills…

"I must say, my dear little brother's looking quite well, don't you think?" Black said loudly and Alex tried to ignore him, focusing on the magenta patterns that intricately crossed over the fabric. Less decoration, more softness. Next to her Black suddenly began to talk about his childhood—was that a change of tactic? She gritted her teeth and tried to block out Black's endless drone but even after five minutes it seemed that he didn't seem to have the concept of 'stopping' in his vocabulary.

"Did you know, when we were six our family once went on a vacation to Egypt—an educational experience, that sort of a thing—and he got lost in a pyramid. Dear old Mummy told him not to wander around, of course, but he saw a pretty flower and couldn't resist. Cried his eyes out until someone came to get him…"

"Black, do make a better use of your time." Alex snapped. She didn't want to think about Regulus, not now, and not with Black smirking in front of her, looking far too much like his younger brother for his own good…

Black cast a bored, lethargic look at the cushion. "I already know the spell."

Alex was aware of the fact that she sounded quite petty at this point. "Practice, then."

"Your spell's not working because you're focusing too much on what it should look like," Black drawled, still sounding very bored. "Imagine that every cushion has its own essence. It can change its form, but it cannot deviate drastically from its essence. The range in which it can change form depends on the fineness of the spellcaster, of course, but you're just starting out with the spell. Give yourself some room."

"I really don't need advice from you."

Black muttered something about girls and their being obstinate and clueless and Alex swallowed a growl rumbling from her chest.

Then, he smirked.

Alex hated to admit that she noticed his smirk, but her gaze nonetheless followed where he was looking at. Regulus was partnered with a Gryffindor—Mary McDonald, Alex remembered her name—and he appeared to be quite immersed in practicing.

"Poor little bugger," Black said. He was almost gloating and Alex exhaled slowly, pointedly.

" _What_ , Black?"

Black looked back at her innocently, his eyes wide and naive. She wasn't fooled. "I thought you wanted to practice," he said. "I'll leave you alone, shan't I?"

"Just say what it is, Black," she said.

"And get you out of your misery?" Black replied, grinning a little too widely to be called friendly. "I could never."

This time Alex failed to silence the growl and Black laughed out loud. She whipped her head at him. He looked back at her, his eyebrows raised in a challenge—with or without malice, she couldn't tell—and Alex bit the inside of her cheek before looking down at her cushion again and adjusting its place on the desk. She cursed inwardly. Cursed herself for being so irritated about Black's little banter and cursed the fact that even Black noticed that Regulus was ignoring her. Not that she cared. She cursed herself for being affected so easily and cursed herself that, despite all the annoyance she felt toward Black, she couldn't help but notice, in the brief time span when she glared at him, she noticed the arch of his dark eyebrows, his long eyelashes, the shape of his eyes and the upturn of his lips. Curse the Blacks and their looks.

All these feelings were heightened when she felt rather than saw Black drew closer to where she was sitting. She immediately shuffled to the end of her bench, but Black just drew himself closer and it was either ridiculously clinging to the end of the bench or just enduring the sound of his breathing as he bent over her shoulder. She chose the latter—she refused to back down.

"You know," he said quietly in her ear—far too close for her comfort. She gripped her wand tightly and went over the list of spells that she'd memorized, just in case, just in case something happened... "You can just _ask_ him what's wrong."

"Sod off," she said. Black only laughed.

"One thing about our dear little Reggie," he said. "He's a really bad liar."

"Don't call him that."

"That what?"

" _That_ ," Alex repeated, aware of the fact that he was getting the better of her. She shut her lips tightly and tried to ignore the fact that Black was close enough to her for her to feel the warmth coming from his body. She considered shoving him away, but that felt like she was acknowledging the fact that he had gotten to her somehow.

"Just ask him," Black taunted. "He'll tell you. Oh, I bet he's just dying to tell you… his dirty little secret to his best friend," he was mocking her, she knew it.

Alex shook her head. "Sod off," she said, and went back to her cushion.

Black feigned being hurt and put an arm around her shoulder. Alex stiffened. "But me? What have I done?" His face came closer and closer to her ear and Alex opened her mouth to prepare for an incantation. "I'm telling you," he breathed, "you'll like what he has to say—"

 _CRASH._

Alex jumped from her seat and looked around. Black seemed to finally have noticed where he was—a classroom, for Merlin's sake—for the first time since he entered. Alex found the source of the noise: the glass jar full of water that usually sat on McGonagall's desk was now inches away from where Black had been sitting previously, completely in shatters. The horrible sound echoed alongside the walls and echoed through the room. Everyone looked up from their cushions, staring at the source of the sound. McGonagall whipped her head around the classroom, until her eyes settle onto her table. Alex swallowed as McGonagall flicked her wand, but all she did was to repair the jar, which promptly came back to her own desk.

"Mr. Black," her voice was dangerously calm. "Could you explain why decided to haul my jar against a bench?" Alex looked confusedly at Black—hadn't he been harassing her all the time?—but the answer came from the other side of the room, in a much more composed and cooler voice.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Regulus's voice was the epitome of politeness. "I must have misdirected my wand. I beg your pardon."

McGonagall's eyebrows only rose higher. "Really, I do not remember vandalism being part of my class curriculum. Mr. Black, if you had been so bored with the class and decided to practice Charms instead, perhaps you could demonstrate the turning of a cushion into pillow." Wordlessly, Regulus drew his wand from his pocket. He tapped the cushion and muttered the incantation. The cushion became smaller and smaller until in front of him sat a bright red pincushion with several needles stuck in it. Students sniggered.

"Mr. Black," McGonagall looked at him from behind her spectacles. "Ten points from Slytherin. Please use your time more wisely in my class." With those words she stalked off to the other side of the room and Alex frowned. She thought she'd seen Regulus perform the spell perfectly only five minutes ago. Next to her she heard Black grin again.

"Poor little bugger," he was saying, stretching in his seat with his hands behind his head. "I don't say this often, but I pity him a little right now." Alex decided to ignore him and Black stayed relatively quiet for the entire class. When it ended she only too gladly kicked from her seat and stood up hastily.

"Not so fast, Wilson," she head Black say from behind her. Alex ignored this and continued to walk. Unfortunately, Black had other ideas and grasped her wrist. Alex spun around.

"Let. Me. Go." She said.

"No," Black continued. "I have something I want to ask you."

"I don't care," Alex said. She shook her wrist but the hand stayed where it was. Its grip only grew tighter and Alex gritted her teeth.

"Do you honestly fancy Lestrange?"

Alex looked up at his face incredulously, but for some reason there was nothing but seriousness on Black's face. Alex frowned.

"What business is it of yours if—"

"Sirius," a quiet voice came. "That's enough. Let her go." Regulus was standing behind her and Alex looked around. He was, however, looking at his brother, who looked back at him amusedly.

"I'm doing you a favor, little brother," Black's smile was too taunting to be called sincere. "Seeing as you're too much of a coward to do it yourself."

Regulus's eyes flashed. "Keep your nose out of people's business," he bit out. "It's none of your concern—"

"Really, I thought you had better taste than—"

"Truly, you're not the one to talk of _taste_ —"

"I can't stand the sight of it, trust me, you two look absolutely—"

"And you imagine that you look any better with any of your—"

"So you do admit that you look absolutely ghastly," Black looked, for some reason, triumphant. Alex looked at them, their words going back and forth like a fierce ping pong match. She couldn't figure out exactly what they were talking about, but they way they talked didn't escape her—the unfinished sentences, reply shot after reply that seemed to build on one another, as though both of them knew exactly what they were talking about and were only putting them into words for the sake of communication. Some sort of mutual understanding that Alex didn't see often.

But apparently neither of them were happy about this mutual understanding.

"Oh!" Rebecca's high-pitched tone sounded unnaturally higher when she approached the trio locked in some silent battle. "Hi, Regulus. I hope I'm not disturbing anything." There was uneasiness in her eyes that Alex hadn't seen before, her eyes flickering every second to Alex, the older brother, and the younger brother.

"Goyle," Black's voice wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it wasn't welcoming, either. "Speak of the devil. We were just—"

"Go on without me," Regulus quickly interrupted him. He gave Rebecca a look that wasn't entirely reassuring. "I'll see you at the Great Hall." Alex tried to ignore how much this promise hurt her. But she had no reason to be hurt—no reason at all. Rebecca left after pecking Regulus on the cheek. Next to Alex Black snorted.

"I should go," Alex muttered, suddenly feeling awkward. This wasn't her fight—she wasn't a part of this circle. Black gave her an odd look but merely nodded at her. Alex didn't see what expression Regulus was wearing. She turned her head to the wall and walked away in quick strides, wanting to get as far away from the scene as possible.

Black's implications were completely nonsensical to her. That was probably his intended effect anyhow. He implied that Regulus was hiding something from her—but that was hardly a surprise. Why else would she account for the fact that he suddenly stopped talking to her? She supposed that she should find some consolation in the fact that it wasn't her—that she wasn't the problem—but Black's words, spoken with very little good intent, did little to assuage her uneasiness.

 _Do you honestly fancy Lestrange?_

Alex gritted her teeth. She already knew the answer to the question, damn it, but it wasn't Black's place to poke his large nose around.

Another stab of pain in her heart. This one did not linger for long, and for that Alex was glad. She didn't need to curse the cause of the pain unduly. She made her way to the great hall unthinkingly, brushing past several students in the process. She thought she received several dirty looks, but she didn't care.

It had been almost three weeks since Rabastan had "accidentally" ran into them at Hogsmeade. Alex wasn't an expert on this matter, but she'd been told by both Leila and Rebecca (who seemed far too happy about the newfound development in Alex's love life) that three weeks were more than enough to designate a pair as "in a relationship." Alex was still doubtful; yes, they often met outside of class, but it was usually to eat meals or go to the library—activities that Alex used to be able to do with Leila any time she wanted until Rosier came into the picture. And yes, Rabastan was nicer to her than other boys were. But Alex wasn't sure. Her stomach didn't do painful flips whenever they saw each other, and her heart didn't squeeze in agonizing pleasure whenever she thought of him. And she might have remained blind to these shortcomings had it not been for the fact that she did suffer from the same symptoms when someone else was concerned.

Alex shook her head. What a needless conjecture.

It wasn't fair to Rabastan that she didn't feel the same way about him when he was interested in her, but Alex had no idea how to bring up the subject. Sometimes it almost felt like he had no interest in her beyond being friends; he certainly had not tried to get physical with her other than some ill-fated attempts at hand-holding that left both of them looking away on either side of the walls and, in Rabastan's case, even whistling awkwardly. It was weird for her to even imagine Rabastan putting an arm around her the way Rosier did with Leila. Perhaps this thing they had, whatever it was, would pass away or disappear slowly over time. Alex certainly hoped so.

So it was not without some guilt and surprise that she encountered him a few evenings later, when she was coming back from the library after finishing her Charms essay.

"Hullo," he said, skipping next to her, his gangly legs looking almost spidery despite his bulky shoulder. "Long time no see." Alex didn't know what to say to this, so she merely smiled. This seemed to encourage him somewhat.

"Any plans this evening?" he asked.

"Not really," Alex answered. "Why?"

Rabastan shrugged. "There was just a meeting that I was wondering if you were interested in." The answer sounded particularly long-winded for him and Alex waited, wondering. "Well, two, in fact," he amended.

"And they would be?"

"One is this evening," Rabastan said quickly. "In five minutes, actually. We'll be late if we don't hurry."

"Rabastan, what is this about?" Alex frowned. There was something on his face that she didn't like—something anticipatory.

Rabastan apparently sensed her unease. "Nothing bad," he assured her. "It's just between Slytherins."

"Right," Alex began to climb down the stairs. Rabastan followed. "And why would I want to go?"

Rabastan shrugged. "Mutual interest?" he said. Alex wasn't sure exactly whose interest she was sharing.

"Come to this one meeting," Rabastan said. "Then decide what you want to do, yeah?"

Alex considered. It seemed unlikely that Rabastan was leading her to some satanic ritual or something similar, and if it was just between the Slytherins, it couldn't be harmful—the Slytherins stuck together, whether they liked it or not. "Alright," she said. "Where are we going, exactly?"

"The passage between the common room and the great hall," Rabastan's step had gained the little skip again. "You know there's a bit of space there where people can gather..." They'd reached the dungeons. "Tousjour pur," Rabastan said. The door slid open.

"So is there anything I should know about this meeting—" Alex began to ask as they climbed through the portrait leading to the secret passageway, but Rabastan made a shushing motion.

The passageway was as dark as ever, and the small light coming from the tip of their wands did little to brighten their visions. Alex squinted in the dark, her steps growing smaller and smaller as she felt the either side of the walls with her hand, feeling the cold and wet stones beneath her fingertips. Something crunched beneath her soles and Alex swallowed. She knew this passageway existed and had used it a couple of times, but it was usually with a group of other people who were squished together enough to give the illusion of warmth and comfort. It was not in any case a corridor that one wanted to go through every morning to get breakfast. She was horribly aware of Rabastan's presence next to her, his profile dimly lit by both of their wands, the sound of his breathing and the lack of comfort his body seemed to provide. She gripped her wand more tightly. Soon, a flickering of a small flame appeared in the distance.

"Who's there?" a dark voice rang through the corridor. Rabastan stopped.

"Lestrange," he answered, looking directly at the flame.

"And?" 

"Wilson," his voice didn't sound so confident anymore. Alex could hear the murmur, even from the distance. It died down quickly, however.

"Proceed," a different voice said, much smoother. In fact, Alex could almost place the voice…

Around the magical flame was gathered about twenty or so boys, all of them Slytherin, all of them quite familiar to her, even if just by face. There was Avery, Rosier, Mulciber and Snape, followed by Nott and a couple of other older Quidditch players, some sixth and seventh years and… Regulus.

He was sitting by the flame and that was why Alex couldn't spot him immediately—most of them were standing. Some were leaning against the wall, some squatting down. But Regulus looked quite comfortable where he was, staring at the fire, sitting cross-legged on a little cushion with a quill in his hand. On his lap was a long piece of parchment. Her heart did another flip-flop but she wasn't sure if it was due to nervousness or excitement. He didn't look at her, but there was a tight line to his lips that suggested dissatisfaction.

"You're late," a seventh-year said. Yaxley, Alex thought his name was.

"Ah—yeah," Rabastan looked almost sheepish. "Sorry, got held up at something."

"She wasn't invited, either," someone else. Dolohov, a sixth year.

"I invited her," Rabastan said defensively. "You know the rules—anyone who might have something to contribute is welcome. And I think she does." Again there was a bout of murmur.

"But she's a girl," someone finally said. Alex raised her eyebrow; she wondered how Leila would feel about her boyfriend saying the exact thing that she herself hated to hear the most.

"Didn't stop Bellatrix now, did it?" Rabastan muttered darkly. A chorus of something like laughter rang through the group. Regulus remained impassive. Alex tried to stay still, resisting the sudden urge to fidget and go back the way she came. She didn't know what this was, but she was beginning to get a sense of its purpose. And she didn't like it. A surge of panic crept up her throat and she swallowed purposefully. Her hand, which had been holding her illuminating wand, tightened its grip.

"Should we begin, or remain standing like statues?" Snape's drawl caught her by surprise. "I would like to get going."

No one said anything for a while.

"Well then," Regulus's voice was strange to her ears—how odd, that she should find it unfamiliar when she'd known him for the last three years— "We'll commence. I, Regulus Arcturus Black, acting on the behalf of our scribe who is missing today, officially announce the beginning of the November meeting, year 1974." He flicked his wand at the flame and the pale silver flame turned dark green, casting an eerie, underwater glow on its onlookers. "This meeting shall revolve around the current issue of Muggles and their presence in wizarding education. I believe that Nott has the specifics?" At these words all eyes went to Theodor Nott, fifth year Beater, who looked slightly thrown aback by the sudden call.

"Ah—yeah," he said, unfolding a crumpled piece of newspaper in his hand. Alex peered at it from a distance—it was a cutout from Daily Prophet. "So," Nott said, clearing his throat. "The Ministry of Magic announced a week ago that the Department of Education will severely cut the budget for Muggle Studies. The money will go to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, where more and more people are needed every day to make up for the accidents that happen around Britain. Muggle-related accidents." Nott didn't look particularly comfortable under the attention but went on. "Such incidences of accidents have been increasing dramatically in recent years..."

Alex listened halfheartedly. Her mother had begun to subscribe to Daily Prophet after Regulus left during the summer holiday. One morning she'd come down from her bedroom and found her mother pouring over an article, her lips pursed. 'Anonymous Donation Funds Committee on Magical Maintenance and Regulation,' it read, but it was on page twelve and the space allotted to the article was quite small.

" _Daily Prophet's still going," her mother said, "possibly because they're thriving on people who're buying newspaper in fear and panic. But they won't last long, either. And look—even the Ministry's unstable." At Alex's uncomprehending look her mother sighed._

" _It's always this way," she said. "Someone gets a brilliant idea in their head and starts a movement. Now, if the followers are unimportant—small, insignificant, or even outcasted—than it wouldn't really matter. But if they're the people who's been around for who knows how long and have all the old money, then getting into the Ministry shouldn't be too hard."_

 _Alex frowned. "What, are you saying that they—the Death Eaters—will infiltrate the Ministry?" She hadn't even had her breakfast yet._

 _Her mother looked back at her grimly. "I'm not saying they will infiltrate the Ministry. I'm saying that they already have." Alex didn't know what to say, so she just proceeded to pour herself a glass of orange juice…_

"It is clear that the Muggleborns are inept in controlling their magic." Nott's voice brought Alex out of her reverie and she looked up. Rabastan had found a niche in the wall where he was leaning comfortably. She resisted the urge run back to the Common Room. Why hadn't she seen this before?

This was a Death Eater meeting.

Or, more precisely, this was a meeting for wannabe Death Eaters, or, at the very least, strong sympathizers to Lord Voldemort. Alex looked around with fresh eyes. Rabastan, whose brother was married to Bellatrix Lestrange. It was no secret that they had their violent… tendencies. Had not Leila told her only few weeks ago that the Lestrange were critical in passing the new regulation on wand usage among Muggleborns? Nott, who'd boasted on several occasions his father's involvement in "recent affairs" concerning fire and destruction. Lucius Malfoy wasn't here, but Alex could bet all the money in her pocket—which wasn't much—that he probably hosted these meetings some time in his Hogwarts career. Alex looked around, trying to suppress her panic.

And there was Regulus, calmly sitting on the floor, barely looking up from his parchment. Already it seemed that he had written more than a foot, his neat handwriting filling in the blank space tightly, the entire page looking like a densely black fabric. He didn't say anything—he barely reacted to most things that Nott said, as though he was stating something obvious and rehearsed. Something already familiar to him. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. He didn't have any ambitions to join You-Know-Who's ranks, did he?

Alex wanted to say no, that Regulus Black was, if a little arrogant, a judicious and fair person. He may not like it, but he accepted Quidditch defeats with grace when it was apparent that the other team had won fair and square. He was studious—anyone could see that—and he was calm, and reasonable, and kind to magical creatures… the list went on and on. But Alex tried to find one instance where Regulus had defended Muggleborns and she could find none. In fact, her head kept going back to the years before, when they'd first started to talk to each other. There was that one particular night, when he said things, things difficult to comprehend…

 _I don't think Muggleborns themselves are necessarily_ bad _… But we should recognize them for what they are. Muggles._

Alex didn't think she'd responded to him in a way that Sophia Wilson would have approved. To be honest, she still wasn't sure how she was supposed to react whenever a Slytherin made a passing comment about 'a Mudblood.' She wasn't going to go out of her way to defend them, she knew, but she couldn't join in—knew that she shouldn't. Her mother would not be proud of her, but Alex didn't know what else she could do. Forsake her house, her friends, and openly oppose their ideas about Muggles that Alex hardly understood? Such action would be suicidal in the Slytherin house. Sirius Black, she knew, liked to flaunt his disregard for the pureblood ideals, but he had the safety net of a different house, a different set of people who respected and agreed to his ideas. She did not. She didn't even know what she believed except for that there were a lot of people dying—more and more so—and that Death Eaters, not the Muggles, were responsible for these attacks. Did the Muggleborns fight back? Of course. Did that lead to casualties? Naturally—but the Muggleborns weren't organized, they couldn't fight back effectively, and consequently their success was limited against a highly organized, planned group of "maniacs," as Sophia Wilson said, who were influential and rich.

The reality hit home for the first time. Death Eaters weren't just people from faraway places—they were the people she was sharing the Common Room with, the people she ate dinners with every day, the people she went over essays with, watch Quidditch games with—her friends, for a lack of a better word. They were going to grow up, graduate Hogwarts and join the attacks that were growing more and more frequent. Her knuckles went white.

And her mother—

"The fools argue that Muggles should learn to control their magic," Dolohov. "Our dear old headmaster, for instance. But such is a waste of our time and resources and, in the end, the Mudbloods only bring our own society into peril." A murmur of approval. "They are ungrateful bastards who don't understand their place in the society."

"They used to be few in number," Yaxley continued the argument. "But the number has been increasing. Just look at Hogwarts—a hundred years ago, it would be rare if we saw more than one Muggleborn per year. Now it goes over five every year. They're breeding and spreading like rats."

Of course, there was the fact that the detection of magic amongst Muggle society was significantly improved in the last couple of decades with several inventions that Alex didn't quite understand but understood to be important. The Muggleborns used to go unnoticed, Alex had read somewhere, unless they displayed extraordinary signs of magic—which was rare, even amongst purebloods. But Alex knew that she couldn't say this outright. In fact, judging from Snape's warning glance, she had better keep her face straighter.

"Any suggestions?" Regulus's voice was almost toneless, disaffected. Alex wanted desperately to know his feelings behind the tone but it was impossible.

"Containment," Rabastan said immediately. "Better to keep them in a separate quarter."

"How?" Rosier said. "You'll have to find them one by one beforehand and bring them together, which would take more resources than they're worth. Much better to keep them separate."

"Separate would mean weaker," Rabastan agreed, "but it would be much harder to control them that way." _And who was he, Alex thought, that he thought he had the right to decide where they should be put? As though the Muggles were someone to be_ put _somewhere?_ She didn't want to listen anymore, but it felt like she had no choice otherwise than to stay. Rabastan, who had brought her here, was no longer dependable, and Alex stood stiffly in her spot, willing the cold air to touch her.

"There's no need to worry about separate or not if they just don't exist," Mulciber's quiet voice broke through a battle of glares that occurred between Rabastan and Rosier. Dolohov's eyebrows rose.

"Exactly," he said. Selwyn, a seventh year, nodded slowly.

"It makes much more sense," he said slowly. "They're a threat either way. We need to strike the source—kill the snake instead of cutting off its head." The irony of the metaphor wasn't lost on her.

 _And you know who killed them? You did. Every single one of you. You think you're so high and mighty, with your Pureblood status. Oh, look, another Mudblood that we get to kill._

The words flew to her mind, unbidden, as sharp as a lightening, spiking its way through her. A memory that she'd wanted to keep hidden in the back of her mind, a mere recollection of the event that she'd almost convinced herself she'd forgotten. Who was she kidding? The voice of Flannigan was a salt to a reopened wound. He graduated last year and Alex had seen his gaunt, self-satisfied sort of a face at the last Banquet. They never crossed paths again after that incident at the owlery, and he made little gesture to acknowledge that it happened. Alex assumed that he wanted to put it behind him as well.

And in the last three years she'd never tried to talk to him, ask him anything as to what made him do what he did. Because she couldn't stand the thought of him, the remembrance of his hand on her body far too vivid. But she could remember things now...

His family was killed, he said. The pureblood maniacs, the Slytherins, they were responsible.

Alex didn't feel guilty. She hadn't done anything directly. But—something unfamiliar began to seep from her heart, making her feel a little lightheaded. She breathed in the cool, humid air. Her breath created thin fog in front of her face, momentarily blurring her vision.

Pity. Flannigan, whoever he might have been, hadn't done anything to deserve his loss at his age.

Her stomach felt heavy and Alex suddenly wished that she hadn't eaten so much, so leisurely, during dinner.

"The Dark Lord..."

Avery's hushed, reverent whisper of his name forced her to pay attention.

"He will eradicate these unnecessary beings," Avery's voice sounded like himself. "He will bring peace and order to the wizarding society where we wizards will no longer have to worry about the filthy Mudbloods..." At that Alex shut her ears, instead choosing to count the pebbles on the ground.

"That would be all," Regulus's quiet voice marked the end of the meeting. "The next meeting will be held on the second Friday of December at the usual time." All nodded and began to make room toward the Common Room. Alex followed the group silently. She could see Rosier making a joke at Avery, who snickered before slapping him on the shoulder. The seventh years were huddled closer together, whispering softly. More than once Alex heard the words 'the Dark Mark' pass through their lips. She merely looked at her wand held tightly in her hands. Her fingers must have felt like strangling vines to the old magical stick.

"So?" Rabastan's voice was like sledgehammer against her ears and Alex flinched involuntarily. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice in the dark. "What did you think?"

"Hmm," Alex said, trying to sound noncommittal.

"Hmm?" Rabasan repeated mockingly. "Is that all you have to say?"

"What, were you expecting some sort of impressed, awe-stricken response?" Alex said. It was said jokingly enough, but from Rabastan's face, she realized that she might not have been far off the mark. She regretted her words and looked away.

"They're watching you, you know," he said at last conversationally. They'd lagged behind a little, the others' lights a dim flicker in the distance like stars on a cloudy night. Alex frowned.

"Who are?"

"The people we were with," he answered. Alex noted that he avoided using the real name—Death Eaters. "And a few more. They're watching you, seeing what you can do."

Alex tried to shrug. "So?" she asked carelessly.

"So," Rabastan said. "You might want to start thinking about it. You know. Joining." Alex stopped on her tracks, trying to conceal the incredulity she was feeling from Rabastan, who was looking down seriously at her.

"Even he's heard about you," Rabastan went on.

"He?" Alex repeated dumbly, but she could guess who he might be…

Predictably, Rabastan made a gargled sort of a noise. "Don't make me say it," he hissed. "Someone might hear."

"Right." Alex tried not to sound sardonic. They spent the last—what, an hour? Two hours?—talking about best ways to get Muggleborns out of their lives, and now he was worried about someone listening in.

"What I'm trying to say," Rabastan said. "Is that you might want to watch yourself. Who you consort yourself with and stuff. 'Cause there are people watching you."

Alex wondered if having a member of the Phoenix as a mother would count as something criminal in Death Eater's circle. Probably yes. She decided to take a gamble.

"And if I'm not interested?" she asked. Rabastan stopped on his tracks and looked down at her. And perhaps it was the godforsaken damned place, small and dark and cold, or perhaps it was the lighting that came from their wands, but his eyes were darker than Alex could recall them being. His mouth set in a firm line.

"Well then," he said. "That would be a problem, wouldn't it? Seeing as you've already been to one of your meetings." Without further comment he began to stalk toward the exit and Alex hurried to follow.

"So these meetings—they happen often?" Alex asked, jogging to catch up.

"Every month." The answer was curt. Alex nodded.

"And you join by in—"

"Invitation only, yeah." Rabastan hadn't looked at her.

"Why did you invite me, then?" Alex asked, hoping that her curiosity would seem encouraging instead of prying.

"I told you, they're watching you." Rabastan's voice was low. "Maybe Slughorn's too dimwitted to notice you, but every other professor knows that you're one of the most promising students in your year. We need all the talent we have."

"But I'm not, you know," Alex gestured. "Pureblood."

"We can't do anything about mixed," Rabastan said decisively, but Alex didn't fail to notice the derisive snort that accompanied the word. "Not the children's fault, anyway. So you might not be able to marry a pureblood—doesn't mean that you still can't serve."

Alex decided not to ask what the Dark Lord's plans for the half-bloods were after their plans to eradicate Muggleborns succeeded. She also didn't mention that Rabastan, a pureblood, was doing the dangerous deed of consorting with a non-pureblood. Or was it that Rabastan never had any serious intentions toward her from the beginning?

"Besides, it will be a shame to spill magical blood when you can be put to a far more productive use, don't you think?" With that question and a half-grin, Rabastan stepped into the Common Room. Alex mutedly followed, silently considering.

"There you are," Leila said when Alex stepped into their dormitory. "Where have you been?"

Alex decided that playing vague was the best option she had. It did seem like the boys were trying to keep their meetings a secret. "Library," she said. It would have closed about fifteen minutes ago, so it wasn't a bad cover. Leila rolled her eyes.

"Evan said the same thing," she said. "Like I believe him. He just had something else." She turned another page of her Quidditch magazine.

"And that's alright with you?" Alex asked hesitantly. Leila didn't even bother to look up from her magazine.

"It's not like we're serious," Leila said. "'Sides, it's not like we're going to get married, or anything."

Again Alex hesitated—for a different reason. "Leila," she said carefully, sitting at the foot of Leila's bed. "Exactly what does Rabastan want with me?"

Leila finally looked up, looking shrewdly at Alex from behind her spectacles. _She must have been enjoying the solitude,_ Alex thought _, if she was wearing glasses._ Rebecca couldn't stand them.

"Probably the same thing Regulus Black wants with Rebecca," Leila said. Alex wasn't sure if she was injured by this comment or relieved, and, if injured, why she was injured. She'd figured that Regulus wasn't entirely serious about Rebecca—he wasn't the type to snog girls he was serious about in the Common Room—but Leila's implication was like a confirmation that she didn't need. And she'd been fairly certain that Rabastan had no immediate plans of betrothal to her—a mixed blood, he'd said—but the idea that he only wanted to be physical with her made her want to throw up. To make it worse, he seemed to have some idea that she'll one day join the ranks of Death Eaters.

"He hasn't, you know," Alex swallowed with some difficulty, "tried anything yet."

Leila looked mildly surprised by her words. She considered. "Maybe he's just testing the waters," she said. Alex raised her eyebrows at the bedding in distaste.

"Why did you say that he was alright?" Alex said, sounding almost petulant.

"You seemed so reserved about the idea," Leila said, shrugging. "I mean, you have to admit that by no means is Rabastan a bad candidate for a snogging session—"

"I don't want him like that," Alex protested. Leila just stared at her.

"Something happened," she concluded. "Are you going to tell me?"

Alex looked at her warily. Leila was by no means a fanatic, but she was a pureblood who liked her position in the society. Leila, Alex knew, wasn't going to try to revolutionize the order of the pureblood society or do something outrageous like—marrying a halfblood, Alex thought with bitter humor. Could she trust her?

"He said," Alex began with difficulty, "something about, you know, well—about You-Know-Who. And working for him in the future. I wasn't sure if you knew about these things—"

"Shh!" Leila made a shushing motion and Alex closed her mouth at once. "You don't talk about those things unless you're ready to pay for it." Her face was grim.

"I mean, is your family involved in any way—"

"Not so far, no," Leila's eyes were roving busily around the room. "Not that my parents think he's wrong, or anything. Loves the whole new order idea, actually. But they've been trying to stay away from it most of the times. Yeah, I know, Slytherin self-preservation, and all that," she said when Alex opened her mouth to speak. "And I'll tell you what my mother told me—it's not a bad idea to stay away from the scene of the crime. Especially if other people think you've done it."

"So you're not going to—"

"No." Leila's face was resolute. "No as far as I can help it."

Alex leaned against the bed post dubiously. Leila sighed.

"Listen, if Rabastan mentioned anything—and I mean _anything_ —about it, you'd better be careful about what you get yourself into. Blimey, they must be pretty desperate if they're turning to girls now." Leila shook her head disbelievingly.

"What do they need me for?" Alex said, trying to ignore a sense of panic beginning to creep up from her stomach. It knotted painfully. "I mean, I'm not a pureblood, I don't have money—"

"But you've got brains," Leila said. "Something direly lacking amongst our inbreeding relatives. It's not a good sign, though, if you were spotted already."

"Do you reckon—that they're looking at the entire castle for candidates?" Suddenly she looked around, as though the walls could hear what she was saying and report back the results. "I mean, aren't we too young?"

"They probably do try to recruit from all houses. I bet it helps to have people with different connections. You never know what might be useful." Leila considered. "Besides, it's not as if they're going to put old geezers at the front line." At the mention of the front line, Alex clutched her stomach, her nervousness becoming acutely painful, like thousand knives stabbing at it. Front line. She didn't even know how to duel—she probably couldn't hex a person in front of her to save her life.

"Let's not discuss this anymore," she managed to croak out. Leila seemed to catch on.

"Right," she said. "And what we talked about remains between us, yeah?" Alex nodded. Leila went back to her magazine and Alex sat down on her own bed, gaze unfocused.

She didn't know what to do, how to react. She desperately wanted someone to talk to, someone to tell all the new information and how scary the world suddenly became, but there was no one. Her mother would probably tell her that she'd warned her daughter from the beginning about the Black boy and finding friends outside the Slytherin house. It was too late for that now, though, wasn't it? Besides, she wasn't sure how she would tell her mother—a member of the Order—that she knew the names of future Death Eaters.

 _Dear Mum_ , Alex imagined writing.

 _Things are going well at school. We're learning about three laws of Transfiguration, which is exciting beyond belief. By the way, I went to a meeting the other day, and guess what? They want me to be a Death Eater…_

Suffice to say, it would not go well.

She could think of another person that she could turn to, someone who wouldn't judge her if she was a little weak or indecisive or even scared about finding out that all these things were _real_ , but it seemed like she'd lost that person from her childhood life forever. He was probably still locking lips with one of her roommates, who have yet to return from her daily Common Room escapades. Alex closed her eyes, feeling the tiredness and fear wash over her.

She would not sleep well that night.


	14. Chapter 14

It was one of those dreams that she knew was a dream and was desperate to wake from but couldn't. There was no one beside her to jolt her awake and she was left to suffer there, lying beneath the duvet covers, and struggle as much as she dared.

She was in the Black Forest—one of the few occasions that she got to venture there as part of the Care of Magical Creatures class. Professor Kettleburn had assigned a specific plant to a group of students that they would need by the next hour, and Alex had somehow ended up on her own as she paved her way through the gnarled forest floor. The day was quickly setting and Alex knew that the class would have ended a long time ago. But no one came searching for her and it seemed pointless to simply stand still and wait. The annual reminders to stay away from the forest during the Sorting Ceremony kept coming back to her, a constant buzz by her ears that grew and grew as her eyes became more frantic in their search for a way out. There was none.

A hooded figure appeared from behind the trees and Alex felt a surge of relief as she laid her eyes on someone finally human. The relief quickly disappeared, however, as the cloaked figure slowly approached her, its movement soundless. Her hand reflexively sought the wand in her pocket, but the action didn't seem to frighten off the figure in any way. Alex gulped. When had it gotten so dark? She could barely see the trees past ten feet.

"Who are you?" she tried to say, but she couldn't hear its voice. It merely kept advancing on her, and the wand in her hand began to shake. No—it was her hand that was shaking.

"Alex!" an unexpected voice came from behind her and Alex whipped her head around to find her mother behind her, dressed in Muggle garb. An eerie light came from her body and Alex squinted her eyes. The sight of her mother made her feel more dread than the forest and the figure combined…

"Mom?" she said, and realized that the feeling wasn't dread, but fear. Fear of what could happen to both of them. But what would even—

"Alex," Regulus revealed his face from underneath the cloak, looking as grave and solemn and terribly handsome as ever. "You're not safe here. Come with me." He extended his hand, and Alex felt the urge to take it, take Regulus's hand and follow him. Her mother had somehow crept up behind her and laid a firm hand on her shoulder. Alex tried to shake the grip off, but it was too strong.

"Let me go—" she said, but the grip tightened. Alex looked back and found her mother gone, devoured by some creature that was slowly morphing into something else. She shrieked and tried to fight it off, but the more she struggled, the stronger the creature became until it seemed to absorb some memory from her. It finally settled on a face, a face of an eighteen-year-old young man with dark hair and stern eyebrows that she'd seen countless times in the photograph that she'd ripped off from one of the books in the library…

"Alex," his voice was neither low nor high, neither smooth nor gravelly, neither deep nor shallow. It felt like every voice in the world combined and Alex stared, petrified, into his unfathomable black eyes, silently imploring him to let her go. He didn't. He raised his free hand and Alex saw the flick of the wand before closing her eyes. There was a flash and surely something would happen to—

"Oi!" The voice of Leila Parkinson was not to be mistaken. "Wake up! We have a long day at Hogsmeade ahead of us." She was shaking Alex by the shoulder, the very shoulder that Alex was sure the hand of Altair Wymond had been ready to tear off just a second ago. Alex swatted her hand away before blinking furiously. Her neck was sticky with sweat. Her body automatically drew her up and Alex watched dazed the morning routine of her two roommates. Rebecca was flitting from one corner of the room to the other, unbelievably diligent in her morning preparations. Leila was slightly less attentive to her appearance but was nonetheless combing her hair.

"Blimey, what's wrong with you?" Leila said, pulling at her bed covers. Alex's hands reflexively clung to them. "It's like someone poisoned you with Draught of Daily Nightmares, or something."

"Bad star signs, I would say," Rebecca said casually from her vanity. "I was doing Astronomy chart the other day and noticed that Neptune was especially invisible these days from the night sky. Always a bad sign for Scorpio."

"Neptune's unobservable at this time of the year at night," Leila muttered darkly. But Alex couldn't help but wonder if Rebecca was one to something.

It was mid December, merely a month after the first Corridor Meeting (Alex decided that this was a far better name than, say, a Wannabe-Death-Eater Meeting) and it felt as though the entire castle was conspiring against her to cause her as much unease and discomfort as possible. There was that meeting itself, which was coming up again in about a month—and Alex wasn't sure if not attending would arouse or dampen suspicion—and she was getting increasingly less amount of sleep every day. The entire castle was buzzing with excitement as the holiday drew nearer and the chatter ran like constant buzz in her ears, making her bloody irritated. The constant irritation and fatigue made her less attentive than she normally was—just yesterday Flitwick gave her a disapproving look as she muttered to the floor that she did not remember the four cases of the Gambit trial and even Slughorn managed to point out her slip-up with her potion, where she accidentally put normal cannellini beans instead of castiglioni beans. The potion created a spiral-shaped purple smoke that managed to invade the entire classroom with repugnant smell and the students were forced to evacuate. Even Slytherins found the mistake funny and gave her an earful. On her way to the library one of the armors actually stepped in her way and deterred her from entering, and she had to spend fifteen minutes making a persuasive argument as to why she wasn't an enemy to his beloved Isolde, who apparently resided in the library. And that was just _yesterday_.

Alex trudged reluctantly to the bathroom, where she found the her reflection staring back at her, dislike evident on her face. The hair around her hair and neckline was soaked and there were purple bags under her eyes that were so dark that they almost seemed navy. The past fortnight was filled with similar nightmares and they were taking a toll on her, she could tell. Dismissing the idea, however, she stepped into the shower.

When the three girls got down to the Great Hall, most people were already seated, chatting. Alex stuck closer to Leila, who, though her amusement was apparent, let Alex cling imperceptibly but oh-so-clearly to her arm.

"Hello, girls," Rosier's smirking grin was becoming almost friendly to Alex's eyes, a fact more disconcerting than the creepy grin itself. "Parkinson. You look as rosy as always."

"Git," Leila muttered under her breath, but she nonetheless sat down next to him, leading Alex to sit next to her, which was next to—

"Good morning," Rabastan's smile was rather tight and Alex smiled back awkwardly before focusing turning back to focus on her pumpkin juice. The events from last night rushed back to her head, driving out whatever good humor she had left. It could have hardly gone worse.

She had, for some reason—self-preservation was probably the biggest one—gone to the December Corridor meeting last night. The topic was on the genealogy of wizarding families and apart from a slightly interesting segment on the Wilson family (not the biggest help but posed no danger, Dolohov decided) which Alex tried not to listen too attentively, it was seventy minutes of exhausting self-congratulation and half-hearted condescension and pity that Alex was only too glad to get out of. Leila, who had meanwhile managed to weasel out of Rosier his whereabouts for every third Friday of a month, was waiting by the Common Room, working on a Transfiguration essay that was due on Monday. Rosier was still animatedly talking with Rabastan about the feats of their great-great-grandfathers and Alex sank down on the sofa next to her, holding back a groan.

"I can only imagine," was Leila's only sign of acknowledgment. Alex scoffed in laughter.

"What are the basics of Vanishing?" Leila suddenly asked. "I think I got animate and inanimate thing down, but can't remember the other two."

"Er—non-determination and universality, I think," Alex tried to remember the passage from the textbook that she was sure she'd read just a few days ago, but her mind came up blank. "Do you have the textbook with you?"

Leila scoffed. "What do you think?" Alex decided not to answer and closed her eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire. Friday night usually meant late-night games and hanging about and that day there was no exception. From somewhere farther away Weird Sisters was trickling softly from the radio (the newest style, some third-years gushed, although Alex wasn't sure what was so great about practically silent drumbeats) and there was a large bang as another game of Exploding Snap came to an inevitable end. Giggles came from various corners of the room and Alex tried to ignore those in particular. She hardly be reminded of a favorite pastime of one of her roommates.

"Um, Alex?" Alex opened her eyes to the uncertainty in Rabastan's voice and she rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any plans next Thursday?"

The question came as a surprise and Alex found out that her eyes weren't as bleary as she thought they were. Her eyes focused on his, which were steady despite the uncertainty in his voice. _He's confident_ , her mind screamed. _He's bloody confident_.

"Er—" Alex stalled. She'd tried to find the best opportunity to tell him that she wasn't interested in him that way, but he never once gave a direct hint that _he_ in turn was in any way interested in her that way. The only clue that Alex had to go on to was Leila's knowing smirks, which she so constantly wore on her face that it felt almost meaningless. Then again, she might be flattering herself in the most unhealthy way when all Rabastan wanted to know was her plans for Thursday for no other reason than simple curiosity. She swallowed. Suddenly it felt as though the room had grown quieter even though it hadn't, and Alex resisted the urge to steal a glance at the particular corner where Rebecca was canoodling someone Alex would rather not name.

"She's free, obviously," Leila's voice was more irritated than amused. "We're all leaving on Friday, aren't we?"

"I'm actually staying," she answered automatically, unaware of her own words. "But I'm staying, I am."

"Well, then," Rabastan's curiosity certainly seemed satisfied. "Do you want to go to Slughorn's party with me?"

Unfortunately, her answer was comprised of uncomprehending look and a jumbled mixture of words and Leila, exasperated at her pathetic response, swooped in for a rescue:

"Of course she will."

But this wasn't a wholehearted answer that Rabastan Lestrange was expecting and it wasn't the answer that Alex wanted to give. So the small awkwardness between them would have to be endured. Buttering her toast, Alex noted Rebecca and her companion with what amounted to almost familiarity. Almost. He'd probably seen the whole fiasco from his own cozy corner in the Common Room, a nasty voice inside her head said. He's probably thinks it's amusing, or something.

In present time, Leila cleared her throat loudly.

"Alright, day plan," she said briskly. "Dress robes, shoes, and _then_ quills. Yes?"

"No," Alex said. "Butterbeer, quills, and chocolate." Leila huffed in frustration.

"You need dress robes."

"I think I'll owl my mom about it," Alex said, although she knew that her mother was too busy these days—and half of the times not even at home. Sophia Wilson managed to respond to her letters somewhat periodically, but that period ranged anywhere from two weeks to a month. Even though she never said it directly, Alex got the feeling that her mother was doing more work abroad—as part of her job or as a member of the Order, she decided she'd better not ask—and it seemed impossible that her mother would get back to her in time about dress robes. Still, it didn't cost anything to ask. Going to the dress shop would.

"So? The party is in less than a week." Leila's voice lowered as they became aware of Rabastan shifting uneasily beside them. "You won't have enough time." That she didn't want to buy dress robes for an event that she didn't even want to go was something that Alex couldn't quite express without circumlocution and Alex struggled to find the best expression for this sentiment. All resulted in a scowl.

"Scary," Leila scoffed. "You're coming with me." Self-consciously, her hand went to her pocket, where she kept a small money pouch. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers. Two Galleons, Alex wagered, although there was a bit more in her trunk, she had to appropriate her spendings if she wanted to last until the end of the year. She supposed that the money she'd earned during summer could be used, but she hadn't changed the money into wizarding currency and Alex didn't think there was an exchange office in Hogsmeade.

The way to Hogsmeade was snowy and the pair huddled closer for warmth. During the slippery walk they had come to a judicious compromise: Leila would lend her a pair of shoes from her collection, but Alex would have to get some kind of formal attire.

"It doesn't have to be super fancy," Leila said, who was somewhat aware of Alex's financial situation and, though uncomprehending, tried to at least accommodate their plans to her needs. "It's Slughorn's party, for Merlin's sake. Just something dressy will do."

"Right," Alex said, trying not to sound too glum. She'd never been the one for dress shopping. For some reason she looked awkward in all the dresses in the shop and ended up feeling worse about herself.

"Blimey, cheer up, will you? It's Christmas!"

"I don't know if this is such a good idea." Alex hated being the one to dampen the mood, but it wasn't working.

"Quit whining," Leila said briskly. "Even I'll be at Sluggy's old party, what could go wrong?"

The answer to the question quickly became apparent when they entered the dress shop.

"Oh, god," the Muggle expression slipped from her tongue before Alex could even stop it, and for once she didn't care. The sight before her was the very picture of chaos and disaster itself; rows after rows after rows of dresses, all hung haphazardly on the hangers, in every color and cut imaginable. The very air inside the store felt too hot and suffocating. Alex felt her face twist into something unseemly.

"They don't have the best selection," Leila said matter-of-factly, "but I suppose it'll have to do." She promptly went to the neatest section of the store and Alex had a feeling that whatever dresses there might be there would be none for her. Alex slowly went to the front of the store, trepidation evident in her steps.

"Er—hi," Alex said awkwardly. "I was sort of hoping to find a dress robe under my budget…?" A slim witch who must have been older than her mother looked down at her not unkindly.

"What are you thinking, dearie?"

"Um," Alex said. "Under a Galleon." The witch's eyebrow rose. Her eyes slowly went to the lapel of her coat, where Alex knew was a green and silver lining that would designate her as a Slytherin. Alex felt the color rise to her cheeks and it had nothing to do with the coldness outside. The witch, meanwhile, observed her state incredulously.

"There is a whole section of older robes at the back of the store," she said eventually. "If the robes don't fit, we can probably get it resized for you."

"I—thank you," Alex muttered before quickly turning her heels and leaving. She knew there was nothing to be ashamed, and she felt a prickle of guilt at the heat in her cheeks. Why would she ever deny her circumstances as they were?

The back of the store was more dimly lit than the rest and it gave a tranquil sort of atmosphere as less people were packed between rows. In fact, there were only few people going over the robes critically and Alex noted with relief that some of them weren't even Hogwarts students. She began to leaf through the dresses with some detachment, trying to come up with some sort of standards in her head: not too short, no pink or orange, no low-cuts…

"Oh, that one's cute," an unexpected voice said from behind her. "Do you mind if I take a look?" Alex turned around to find a hesitant, smiling face of a girl. She had dark, red hair, green eyes, and a speckle of freckles around her nose…

"Go ahead," Alex found herself saying, as she moved to the left to make more room. Lily Evans smiled widely at her.

"Thanks," she said, picking up the light blue dress and eyeing it critically. Alex fidgeted, uncomfortable. Even though they knew each other's face and name—they've had the same classes for years, and she's been in Ancient Runes with her since Third year—Alex had never once spoken directly to Lily Evans, the apple in Slughorn's eyes and Gryffindor's brightest witch. Even the Slytherins didn't make jokes about Lily Evans, although that may be partly due to Snape's involvement with her, which no one really understood, and the fact that James Potter was ready to curse anyone who spoke badly of a Gryffindor—and especially his precious Lilykins. Alex wondered how she was supposed to act. Should she move on to a different aisle? She had nothing against Evans personally, but Alex wondered if, as a Muggleborn, she would possess the inherent dislike for Slytherins. She inched toward the other end of the rack.

"Getting ready for Professor Slughorn's party as well?" Evans asked conversationally and Alex stilled.

"Unfortunately," Alex said guardedly and Evans laughed.

"They're not that bad," she said reassuringly. Why was she reassuring Alex? "I've never seen you there before, though. Are you coming with someone?"

"With a friend," Alex said, for some reason unwilling to mention Rabastan's name. "I'm not sure if it's worth the trouble, though." She gestured at the entire store. Evans nodded sympathetically.

"It is a bit much sometimes," she said. "Still, it's not a bad excuse to go dress shopping."

"I suppose not," Alex said, and she realized for the first time that Lily Evans was in the back of the store with her. What strange things happened in this world.

"Do you know what you're looking for?" Alex decided to ask. "I'm absolutely rubbish at this sort of a thing." Evans grinned ruefully.

"I guess I really don't, either," she said, holding up the periwinkle dress. "Do you think this could work on me? There aren't any mirrors back here..." She held the dress up to her neckline. Alex blinked.

"Er," she said, trying to find the best way to say no, the color clashed rather horribly with her hair. Thankfully, the expression on her face seemed to say enough and Lily again grinned the rueful grin.

"Bye-bye," she said, putting the dress back on the rack. Alex grinned.

"It's a shame, though," Lily sighed. "It was a good bargain."

"Fifteen sickles, right?" Alex had been focusing more on the price tags than the actual designs.

"Yup." Lily regarded the dress again, apparently still hung up on it. "You should try it on," she suddenly said.

Alex's eyes widened in alarm. "What? No. _No_ ," she waved her hands frantically in front her. "No way."

Lily looked excited. "Why not?" She held the dress out for her and Alex backed away. "It's really cute," Lily began to say in a rather whiny sort of a voice. "And—"

"I don't really like periwinkle," Alex blurted out the confession before she knew what she was saying. Lily raised her eyebrows.

"Or any light colors, really," Alex cleared her throat. "Besides, I was hoping to buy something more versatile, y'know? I doubt I'll grow any more, so I figured I'd buy something I can wear over and over." Lily seemed to consider.

"Do you think you'll go with house colors?" She held up a silver dress. "Ugh. No."

"Agreed," Alex muttered. The sparkles on the chest area hurt her eyes.

The search went on like this for what felt to Alex like mere minutes. Lily was surprisingly nice about her being a Slytherin and Alex got a sense that Lily thought she was being surprisingly nice about her being a Muggleborn. They talked about their homes; Lily was from Cokeworth, a largely industrial town, she said, where both her mother and father worked blue-collar jobs. The Evans were naturally surprised to find that their younger daughter was a witch, but accepted the idea easily, proud of their daughter. Alex in turn told her about her house in the south, the small neighborhood, her primary school year.

It was unexpectedly easy, talking to Lily about her life. They both knew what it was like to grow up as a Muggle, so it was unnecessary to pause to explain things or, worse, skip things altogether for the sake of conversation. And Lily was above all simply someone _nice_ who was willing to listen to people without judgement. They were on the topic of the best chocolate—no idea how they got there—when they finally reached the consensus on the best choices they had for the party.

"Alright, option one and option two," Lily held each dress in hand, and then hesitated. She scurried to the corner of a shop. "And option three." Alex shook her head in amusement.

"I can't even tell at this point," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green," Lily said promptly. "But—you know, that's Slytherin color."

Alex tried not to sound too snarky. "I thought house rivalry was complete bullshit?" she quoted. Lily's cheeks colored.

"They _are_ , but—" she paused. "You know what? Screw it. Option three it is."

"There we go," Alex said magnanimously, picking up her own simple gray dress robe. They moved toward the counter to pay for their dress robes, but Alex stopped in her tracks when she saw Leila darkly going the choices in her section. The grip on the hanger tightened.

"You know," Alex said, looking down at the ground. "I should—I should probably go meet my—er, my friend." Alex gestured to where Leila was. "I mean, sorry—" Lily's eyes widened.

"Oh! That's alright," she smiled, but it also looked a little uncomfortable. "Marley and Cassy—I mean, Marlene and Dorcas—they're waiting for me at Zonko's. Didn't want to go dress shopping, or something." Lily wrinkled her nose. "I guess I'll see you at Slughorn's party, then."

"I—yeah. See you there." Alex looked regretfully at Lily's retreating back before going to Leila, who was positively fuming.

"Something wrong?" Alex nudged her shoulder. Leila growled.

"Can't—bloody—decide," she grunted. "What on Merlin's loony spectacles _is_ light mint? Is there such thing as _dark_ mint then?"

"No idea," Alex said, concealing a smile. "I'm sure Rosier won't mind either way."

Leila huffed indignantly. "That blubbering buffoon won't know the difference between red and blue," she said. "Honestly, I don't know why I even bother."

Now Alex was grinning. Dress shopping turned out to be much more fun than she'd thought… "Fancy a butterbeer, then?" Alex said. "We can come back later if you can't decide."

"Please," Leila muttered. "By all means, take me away."

* * *

Rabastan had asked her to meet him at the Common Room at seven and at six fifty-five Alex was lying on her bed, her dress only slightly wrinkled beneath her. The constant flurried motion of Rebecca Goyle was doing nothing to ease her headache. The closer and closer the clock drew to the intended meeting time, more and more certain Alex grew that she shouldn't go to the party.

"You're ruining the hair!" Rebecca sounded highly scandalized, and Alex supposed that she couldn't blame her. Rebecca had generously offered to do her hair after all, and it actually looked sort of pretty in a simple knot. She slowly sat up and stuffed her toes into Leila's shoes. They pinched, as if they were designed to keep her from running—or escaping.

"Sorry," she said, running a finger over her lip. It was glossy and Alex rubbed the back of her hand over it self-consciously. Her hand came out clean. Apparently the lipstick was charmed so that it wouldn't smudge. Alex supposed that this should have been reassuring, but it only made her feel sicker. It felt like someone had smeared a layer of mud over her face.

"Time to go," Rebecca was almost singing. Alex tried not to think of reasons why Rebecca was so upbeat. "Or we'll be late."

"I'm done!" Alex stared at her. The usual sardonic Leila hidden behind her curls was gone. Instead, she was replaced a shining sort of a beauty with her curls held together with ribbons and her body barely concealed in a silvery piece of fabric. Alex blinked. Leila had truly outdone herself.

"Nice," Rebecca said, and the suddenly took the wizard camera from her bed stand. Without any warning, she snapped a picture of her.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?" Leila said indignantly. Alex tried not to grin; apparently, the change in her appearance had done nothing to change her character and it comforted her.

"Your grandfather asked me to send him photos," Rebecca said nonchalantly.

"So that old geezer's now trying to spy on me?" Leila sounded almost outraged, but the corners of her lips were twitching. Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Stop being so dramatic," she said. "Apparently someone hasn't written to their grandparents in over three months."

"He worries too much," Leila grumbled, and the rest of their way down was also filled with similar grumbles and complaining. Alex followed wordlessly, leaning on the banister for support. She'd never walked in heels, and although the pair she'd borrowed were relatively comfortable save the pinched toes, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she would fall down on the floor face down flat any time soon.

"Parkinson! You look absolutely—" Rosier began to greet Leila—with a customary insult, no doubt. This time, Leila stopped him before he could finish.

"Shut it or you'll regret it for the rest of the night," she warned, and he grinned.

"Absolutely stunning," Rosier finished anyway, and a surprised smile slowly spread across Leila's face. Alex turned away, trying to avoid where Rebecca was standing, her face animated as she tried to straighten Regulus's tie. A useless notion, Alex thought. His ties were always straight. She tried not to notice his simple black dress robes that sat on him very well, a dark gray vest and a simple dark green tie that complemented each other. She tried not to notice the way the sharp collars covered the smooth lines of his neck, which led to the delectable lines of his jaw—

Too late.

"Ready?" Rabastan asked. He was wearing a dark green dress robes with paisley vest that looked rather nice—or Alex gathered that they looked nice from the way he wore them. He offered her his arm in a manner that was unfamiliar to her and Alex tried not to seem too surprised.

"Sure," she said, awkwardly taking his arm. Immediately he drew her closer to his side, and Alex had no choice but to feel his arm and shoulder pressed against hers. The rough fabric of the dress robe rubbed against her bare skin and it scratched.

"So you're staying at Hogwarts for Christmas?" Rabastan's voice was casual as they walked among the group of Slytherins headed toward Slughorn's office. Thankfully, it wasn't a very long walk.

"Yup," Alex said, trying her hardest to look at his face while talking. But it proved to be more difficult than she thought it would be. "My first time staying, actually. I heard the food's quite nice, though." Rabastan nodded thoughtfully but didn't seem to be able to find anything to say and Alex swallowed painfully.

"Any plans for Christmas?" she finally asked. Rabastan shrugged.

"My parents are planning a family dinner—I think I might see some of my relatives. I get to see most of them on a daily basis, so it's not much of a big deal." Alex nodded.

"Here we are," Rabastan said unnecessarily as entered Slughorn's office—probably to dispel tension, Alex supposed.

She'd been to Slughorn's office once for a detention during first year, but the details she remembered from three years ago differed widely from what she saw now. Christmas lights decorated every edge of the place, and a band played loudly from the magical gramophone. Tables were lined with drinks, food, and condiments and there were even a couple of students taking coats from the party attendants. Alex wondered exactly what Slughorn had promised them to hire them.

"Not bad, eh?" Rabastan said, leading them to a table. Already it was surrounded by several Slytherins who exchanged glances in greeting. She approached them uneasily. She didn't think that she would have to mingle—she was far too bad at it to begin with.

"Wait here for a sec, will ya?" Without giving her time to answer, Rabastan left her at the table. Alex looked around, trying to appear more at home than she felt. There were a couple of Ravenclaws chatting avidly with some wizards wearing the official Ministry of Magic robes—Alex guessed that there were few of the many students that Slughorn liked to brag about. She caught the sight of James Potter sneaking around furtively with Sirius Black, looking far too purposeful to quell her worry. Her eyes automatically began to search and soon enough it ended up on Lily, who was with Snape. Alex sighed.

"There you go," Rabastan said and Alex jumped in surprise. He was holding out a glass full of something for her. She took it gingerly.

"What is it?" she asked, sniffing guardedly. It smelled far stronger than simple butterbeer.

"Think it's some sort of mead," Rabastan answered, taking a sip. Alex made a move to drink it but kept her lips closed.

"Rabastan! My boy," Slughorn's voice boomed across his own office—a feat, indeed, in itself. "How are you? And how's your dear uncle Sebastian? I seem to remember reading that he was recently promoted!"

"To the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, sir," Rabastan sounded impossibly polite. "Even has a new assistant, now."

"Good! That's good to hear..." mumbling something else, Slughorn moved on to the next target. "Regulus! Regulus, my dear old boy..." the sound of heavy patting on the shoulder ensued, and Alex tried to shut her ears to the direction the noise was coming from. Rabastan put a hand on the square of her back and began to lead them somewhere.

"Barmy old man," Rabastan muttered. "Sometimes I'm surprised that he even knows my name." Alex grinned.

"At least he knows you exist," she said. "Did you see him pass me by? You would've thought I was a tree trunk, or something..." Rabastan made a sound that was like a laugh but wasn't. He led them to a secluded corner where they could still see everything but weren't able to hear most of the conversation. Alex felt her arm prickle.

"Listen," Rabastan began lowly. "You've got to tell me something. You know what it is, don't you?"

Alex frowned in confusion. Rabastan made a sound of frustration.

"You know what I mean," he said. "You've been coy all these months—" Her eyes widened.

"What?!" she said incredulously, staring at his face. Apparently Rabastan actually believed what he was saying, because he continued.

"You've been holding back, I could tell—"

" _Holding back_? Holding back what, may I ask?" Subconsciously, her hand went to her wand which she'd discreetly pocketed inside the small pouch sewn inside of her dress.

"Don't try to play innocent," Rabastan was growling. "Always pulling your hand out, never sitting close to me, don't you think I know what you're doing? You're playing hard to get." His hands went to either sides of her head on the wall, and Alex was gripped by alarm. His face was close, far too close…

"Um," she said stupidly. "What do you think you're doing?" Rabastan raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Can't you tell?" he said. She could, in fact, guess well enough, but didn't want to believe it.

"You've got the wrong idea," she said. "I'm not interested in you that way." But Rabastan didn't draw away from her.

"You aren't? But why haven't you told me that by now?" His voice was smooth, certain.

"Because—" she stopped, not knowing what to say. Because there was no right time? Because she'd somehow been telling herself that Rabastan wasn't interested in her? The reasons that she found so plausible and sensible sounded so paltry and empty at that moment that she stuttered her mouth close. Rabastan smirked.

"Trust me," he said. "You'll like it, I promise you." His hot breath blew across her face and even though Alex held her breath she could smell the faint tang of mead.

She acted quickly. Whipping out her wand, she shouted the first curse that she could think of, aiming straight at Rabastan's face. Without giving him a chance to retaliate, she made a run for it, forcing her way into the busy crowd so that she would be harder to spot. The lights flickered above her. A magical effect, no doubt. No familiar face glanced her way and she wasn't sure if she was glad of this or not. She shoulder past a couple of second-years, ignoring their protests as their drinks sloshed down their dress robes, and found the ideal hiding place that she'd been eyeing all evening: willowy sort of curtains covering the niche home to a ghastly tapestry of the second Goblin war. Drawing back the linen, she hid herself.

From behind the curtains the view was certainly a little different than from middle of the office. The fabric dimmed her vision somewhat, and Alex could only make out vague silhouettes of people moving. She could still hear the radio and Slughorn's pats on the back, however. Alex swallowed down a bitter taste of regret. She shouldn't have agreed to come. She should have been forthright that she didn't want to do anything with Rabastan Lestrange. The knuckles of the hand gripping her wand were white. The lights flickered again.

But this time the lights didn't stay stable. It kept flickering, creating an ambient effect of suddenly being underwater. Alex could barely see people anymore, small spots dotting their faces and bodies like the black dots on a ladybug.

Then, the lights went out altogether.

There was a lot of harrumphs and gasps of surprise and expression of general discontent. Alex held out her wand and whispered "Lumos" as some have already done but the light merely winked in front of her face, not revealing anything in the vicinity. Alex frowned.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud voice suddenly rang through the room. Big. Jovial. Alex clutched her wand more tightly.

A sudden beam of light shined onto the back of the room where the tables were laden with drinks and snacks. The glasses and food were gone—vanished entirely—and in its place were standing two boys, feet spread out proudly, dysfunctional mics in hand. Huge grins were plastered on their faces. Alex resisted the urge to groan out loud.

"Good evening,'" James Potter said, his eyes positively shining. "Welcome to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party." No one responded.

"We've prepared several presents for you all," Sirius Black continued. "One you've already received."

"Has anybody tried the mead?" Potter asked inno bcently. Hands of several of the disoriented people shot up, apparently unaware that Potter and Black shouldn't be approved in their shenanigans.

"We might have added something to… give it a spark," Black said, looking far too happy. A murmur of alarm spread through the crowd. Alex wiped her lips self-consciously.

"You spiked the mead?" Someone from the crowd said, sounding almost hysterical.

"Spike is such an ugly word," Potter said. "We prefer the word 'to improve.'"

"What is it, then?" another voice came, this time from a woman. "What did you put?" A series of nods.

"A delicacy, I assure you," Black said magnanimously. "A concoction concocted by none other than Amos Rus in the seventeenth century. Perhaps you're aware of this particular brew." He tipped an imaginary hat to Slughorn's direction. "All credits to Professor Slughorn, who inspired us with his Tuesday lecture on a particular brand of potion that… er… _eliminates_ inhibitions and tensions in order to encourage impulses in the human body." Slughorn looked torn between being pleased at the mention and being horrified at the possibility of their words. To his credit, he chose the former.

"It's another form of Veritaserum," Potter said snugly. "Don't worry, no harm to the system."

"POTTER!" Lily Evans's shrill scream suddenly broke through the crowd. "YOU STUPID, ARROGANT GIT!"

"Think the potion's working, mate," Black said, apparently having forgotten the mic in his hand. Potter, on the other hand, looked rather apprehensive.

"I don't know, that's not _exactly_ the effect I was going for—"

"What were you thinking, poisoning everyone with Drop of Impulse?" Lily was positively seething. "I could kill you right now."

"Well, it wasn't just a drop, really—" Black began.

"A whole batch, actually. Cauldronful, if you care to know—" Potter received.

"But I think we need to be worried about the threat, mate," Black said lowly, warily regarding the way Lily held her wand. "She looks dead serious. Pardon the pun."

"Pardon granted," Potter said magnanimously. Alex thought steam was coming out of Lily's ears.

"That's it," she gritted her teeth. "Stupef—"

" _Silencio_!" Black waved his wand lazily. "Sorry, Evans. You can't ruin the fun. It's a party, after all."

Lily couldn't talk, but her expression was sufficient enough to convey exactly what she wanted to say had she been able to talk.

"Now," Potter said, seemingly unfazed about the fact that Black just silenced a girl he had been "courting." "I think it's time for karaoke." He held out the mic. "Anybody want to take a go?" A murmur of uncertainty broke through the crowd.

"C'mon," Black said, wearing his trademark grin. "I know you want to."

"I'll go!" Someone suddenly cried, raising her hand wildly. A sixth-year Ravenclaw tottered to where the duo was sanding, a large glass of mead in her hand.

"Merlin knows, I need to let off some steam," she complained, and Potter nodded sympathetically.

"Sixth year stress, eh? Well, we know just the song." He flicked his wand at something that Alex couldn't see. "'I Want to Be Free' by the Ghoulish Quartet. I'll take care of the chorus, if you'd like." The girl nodded seriously and the song began to play.

She was not an accomplished singer. In fact, she was quite tone-deaf. That did not, however, stop her from singing along happily to the music and even doing a little jiggle with Black on stage. Unfortunately, people became more and more engaged as the song progressed, and when the first song ended, they were clamoring to go next.

"Blimey," Alex muttered.

She had been so engrossed in watching the whole situation—it was funny, in a sort of a twisted way—that she didn't see a dark figure drawing closer and closer to the little niche where she was hiding. A pair of hands grasped the edge of the pastel fabric frantically before pulling it away. Alex drew back in surprise and her widened eyes met the startled face of Regulus Black.

"Wha—" she began to say, having forgotten their indifference due to surprise, but Regulus seemed quicker to recover.

"Shhh," he said, looking around wildly before drawing the curtains close again. Now they were both squished in the tiny alcove.

"What are you doing?" Alex whispered furiously. The memories of months spent being ignored and then pretending like it was nothing came rushing back to her, adding heat to her cheeks and eyes.

"Oh, nothing, just taking a breather." Regulus answered airily, almost waving his hand carelessly before deciding that such would not be the best course of action in the tiny space.

Alex was unconvinced. "Breather. Really." She squinted at his face. The niche was tiny and relatively dark, but the little space meant that there was less than a foot distance between their bodies. She thought she could see rouge on Regulus's cheek.

"Well," Regulus said. "Perhaps a permanent break would be a better term. The party has taken a rather… unexpected turn."

"Wouldn't Rebecca miss you?" Alex asked sardonically. "Just ditching your date at the party, that's not really classy of you, is it?"

"Rebecca," Regulus said tightly, "has had too much mead. It is for her own good that she spend her night in the dormitory. I asked Parkinson to look after her; she and Rosier looked bored with the party anyhow."

"I'm surprised you even stayed," Alex said cooly. The expression on Regulus's face was something definitely not a grin.

"Oh, trust me," he said. "It's better that I'm not with her tonight." Alex tried to ignore the implications behind his words. Regulus had been drinking the mead—she'd sneaked enough glances his way to know that much. What exactly he wanted to do with Rebecca that he was preventing himself from, Alex could only guess, but her imagination came up with the most ludicrous and hurtful images possible.

"I'd better get going, then," she said snappily. "This alcove is far too small for both of us." She made a move to grab the end of the curtain to draw it back discreetly, but Potter's loud voice stopped her.

"Next round?" he asked, grinning at the room. The previous song—'Hippogriff's Flight'—had been a sad, remorseful melody about a dream of someone overlooked, sung like a dance number. People were yelling and jumping up and down and generally causing a ruckus. Potter couldn't look happier.

"I'll go," a familiar voice said obnoxiously.

"Lestrange," Black said distastefully. "I don't think that—"

"But this is a party!" Potter interrupted him. "Why not, come up, Lestrange." Rabastan did, staggering a little. He was obviously inebriated and Alex winced in advance.

"What will you be singing, Lesrange?" Potter asked, perhaps a tad too brightly. He was trying to keep the mood up, Alex could tell.

"Brewery of Lies," Rabastan said immediately. Potter looked slightly uneasy at this.

"Alright," he said nevertheless, handing Rabastan the mic. He snatched it from his hands. "In three, two, one—"

The instrumental beginning was long in this song, and although Alex had never heard of it, she could surmise from its beginning that it was not a happy lullaby. She swallowed.

"This song is for all the bitches who play around with innocent guys for fun," Rabastan said, his voice hoarse due to alcohol. "Here's to you, Alex Wilson. May you rest in never." He seemed like he had more to say, but then the song began to play and he had no choice but to sing.

 _Of all the poisons that I've encountered,_

 _I was able to find the antidote for all,_

 _All but one, the one from the_

 _Brewery of lies..._

Rabastan's was a surprisingly nice bariton, but that didn't improve in any way the notes he failed to hit in his drunken stupor. Of course, the rule of the karaoke is that the worse your singing is, the better, and people were corking delighted at every missed note in his song. Which became more and more frequent as his confidence was bolstered by the loud cheer from the crowd. When the chorus came, he and Potter stood face-to-face, making the mooniest expression one could make, and pretended to wail:

 _A witch should never say_

 _Come hither and look away_

 _And then torture us in delay_

 _With the hip's teasing sway_

 _That, my darling, is not okay_

"Oh, Merlin," Alex said, burying her face in her hands. She had long given up the thought of trying to leave discreetly. Rabastan had to go and mention her full name in front of—ministry officials and, worse, her classmates. Even Slughorn was listening in with interest. And having Regulus watch Rabastan with faint amusement only increased her embarrassment by trifold.

"Never knew that he could sing," he said conversationally. "My father loves that song. Perhaps I should ask Lestrange to sing it during one of our family gatherings."

"Shut up," Alex said irritably. Regulus just laughed. It sounded strange to her ears.

"So you and he are over, then?" he asked lightly. Alex scowled.

"It's none of your business."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"There was no 'me and Lestrange' to begin with. He seems to have misunderstood something." Alex didn't know why she was saying these things, suddenly explaining to Regulus her behavior. She didn't need to explain anything to him. He had been absolutely horrid the past four months.

"Or perhaps _you_ 'd misunderstood something," Regulus muttered, watching Rabastan gyrate his hips to the music in a scary impersonation of Elvis Presley. Girls screamed. Alex wasn't sure how Rabastan would know Presley's style, but wished that she was in a rathole somewhere—anywhere would be better than this.

"Why aren't you out there, anyway?" she bit out in annoyance. "Weren't you drinking as well?"

Regulus blinked, owl-like. "I don't have deep-seated impulses to make a fool of myself in front of an inebriated crowd," he said. Alex looked away, suddenly feeling stupid.

"Oh."

"If you must know," Regulus continued, his eyes fixed on the performance, "Rebecca had drunk a rather large quantity of mead. It seems that she had indeed been holding herself back in the… ah, endearment department." Against all reason Alex snorted back a laugh, pressing her lips tightly.

"Oh?" she said with some difficulty. "What did she call you? Baby poo? Reggiekins?" Her face grew mockingly grave. "Did she call you Gu-Gu? I'll have to give her the biggest Christmas present." Regulus, on the other hand, did not look so entertained by the list of names she came up with; in fact, he grew more and more agitated until he seemed ready to burst.

"She called me Reg, alright?" he said, his face flushed. "We were sort of talking and she suddenly called me Reg." He shuddered, looking traumatized at the memory. Alex began to snicker.

"She… she called you _Reg_. Oh, she _dared_ to call you Reg, how _dare_ she, a mere _Goyle_ trying to warm up to the _Prince_ —" She was laughing at him, but the malice in her tone wasn't from the current situation. No, it was from the pent-up anger she'd been repressing inside, trying to act like he couldn't affect her when in reality he was one of the few people who could. She thought he knew this, knew the influence he had on her. She'd trusted him enough to respect her with the knowledge. He didn't.

Regulus didn't look appreciative of her antics. "It's not about that, and you know it," he muttered sullenly.

"I'm sure it isn't. After all, you let _me_ call you Reg, a halfblood Wilson—"

Regulus grabbed her by the shoulders. His grip was tight enough to make her wince. There was a wild light coming from his eyes and Alex stared back in shock. "I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry," he said, his voice suddenly low. "I'm sorry, I truly am." He looked at her expectantly, as though he was waiting for her to say something, say that it was fine. Alex wasn't sure if it was.

"Why'd you do it, then?" she mumbled like a disgruntled five-year-old. She knew that the mature thing to do would be to graciously accept his apology, but she felt like she was owed an explanation.

Regulus visibly hesitated. "I need to sort my head out in order," he mumbled eventually, looking away. The faint flush on his cheeks darkened perceptibly.

"Sort out what?" Alex raised her eyebrow. She could think of a couple of things…

Regulus didn't answer. She sighed in exasperation and turned away to go. Rabastan finally came off stage and was now being heralded as the new up-and-coming Stubby Boardman. But she was stopped by Regulus, who took her wrist before she could leave.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at her face again, his eyes wide and sincere. "It's not you, I swear it isn't."

"Isn't it?" Alex shook her arm bitterly. Regulus didn't let go. "You've all but ignored me for the past five months. Do you know how—" her voice cracked. "Do you know how worried I've been? You didn't write back for a month during summer, I thought your mom had locked you up in a cell, or something—"

"Alex—" Regulus began to say something, but she cut him off.

"And after that, going after _Rebecca Goyle_ for some—"

"It didn't mean anything!" Now Regulus sounded actually defensive. This only infuriated her further. "I swear, it didn't mean anything—"

"And that's supposed to make you look _better_ , Regulus?" Alex asked incredulously. Regulus looked away, mouth closed tightly. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Alex didn't even know what she wanted by then—Regulus was trying to apologize, and even though she spent the last four months wishing that they could go back to the way they were, here she was, rejecting his apologies.

"The next song," Black's voice was sultry as it carried itself magically magnified across the room. "Will be sung by yours truly." The music flowed from the gramophone and Regulus scoffed at the intro. Alex looked inquiringly at him against her better judgement. A smile had found a place on Regulus's face, reluctant but happy, and she couldn't look away.

"Sirius is a really bad singer, isn't she?" she remarked after a while. Regulus snorted again.

"That would be a gross understatement," he said. "But he makes up for it with his attitude, wouldn't you say?" At this moment Black began to stand on his tippy toes and sing in an octave higher. They both winced. Thankfully, 'God Rest Ye, Merry Hipogriffe' was not a very long song and Potter, looking at the absolute disaster his mate was creating, did not seem too keen to continue the song for any time longer than necessary.

"That's enough, mate," he said, patting Black on the shoulder. Black, on the other hand, looked only too excited.

"But I haven't finished the falsetto part," he answered, holding the microphone out of Potter's deft reach.

"There isn't a falsetto part," Potter told him. Black frowned.

"There isn't?"

"Nope," now Potter's cheeks were definitely tinged pink. He turned to the crowd. "Anyone here wants to have a go?" he said, holding up the mic that he had managed to wrestle from Black's slightly drunken grip. Several hands shot up and eager cries of "me!" and "here, Potter!" filled the air.

"There you go," Potter said, handing the mic to a seventh-year Hufflepuff. "And what will your song be?"

"A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love," the girl gushed. A collective sigh of exasperation and whoops of encouragement were heard.

"Need a help with the chorus?" Black butt in. "I make an excellent tenor, if I may say so myself."

The girl looked taken aback and her answer was clearly not a yes, but her resolution seemed to melt a little under the fourth year's gaze. "Alright," she said faintly. "A duet. Why not?"

"Excellent!" Black jumped in excitement. "James, hit the tune, willya?" Potter did as his friend requested, looking resigned and amused. A series of loud shouts came from the crowd as the song began. The girl's sultry voice was like arrows shot by an excellent archer. Alex could see the people begin to the music, their heads swaying in time. Even she didn't mind this performance as much.

"Let's dance," the words came from behind her, and Alex looked back in surprise. Regulus seemed composed enough, however, which made her feel even more confused. Why on earth would he make such a suggestion?

"What? No!" her response came out fiercer than she'd intended because of her surprise. She tugged her wrist away but Regulus didn't let go.

"Let's dance," he repeated, his eyes unfathomable. He tugged gently at her wrist the way little children tug at other people's hands to implore a favor, but Regulus didn't feel like a little child anymore. Not to her, anyway.

"I don't know how," the excuse came from her lips before she could even process what she was saying.

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly, as though the fact that she couldn't dance couldn't possibly interfere with them dancing. A smile was beginning to form on his lips. "It's not that difficult," he said, the grip on her wrist loosening before sliding down to her hand. His other hand somehow naturally found its way to her waist. He pulled her closer, placing her hand on his shoulder. Alex followed awkwardly, her back stiffer than a stick.

"Er," she said. "Aren't you supposed to hold hands, or something?" Regulus felt awfully close as he placed his other hand on the other side of her waist. He began to move in time to the music and her free hand dangled in its lonesome, helpless state. She tried to mimic his movements; unfortunately, she couldn't tell how successful she was.

"That's ballroom dancing," Regulus's voice sounded louder, too, his lips a lot closer to her ears than they usually were. Alex was again reminded of the fact that she couldn't make fun of Regulus (however indirectly) of him being smaller than her anymore. This brought another pang to her chest, making her heart twist oddly…

"I suppose we might need to practice that," he continued, and his voice sounded a little shaky. Alex swallowed.

"Not today," Alex said, trying to diffuse the tension. "Merlin knows I'll never manage to learn two dances on the same night." But Regulus didn't laugh.

"Not today," he conceded. "But someday." Alex didn't know what to say to this, so she just placed the dangling hand on Regulus's shoulder, trying to be natural about it. But she heard him swallow before letting out a short breath. It smelled of honey and alcohol. Mead. Alex doubted that he had a lot of drink, however.

If anyone had had a lot of drink, it was obviously his brother Sirius Black, who, after the Hufflepuff's melodic singing, began to sing shamelessly along with her.

 _Oh, such thrills await_  
' _Cause, together, we are ready to proceed_

Alex let out an involuntary snort of laughter and tried to disguise it as a cough at the last minute, reminding herself that her nose was as close to Regulus's ear as his lips were to her ears. Regulus, on the other hand, also seemed to be biting back a laughter, and soon enough she was muffling her giggles against Regulus's shoulder. Her arms became more pliant as they wound their way unconsciously around his neck, her hands resting on either of his shoulders. His hands in response slowly slid from her waist to her lower back, where Alex could feel each of his fingertips press against her spine. Her throat constricted and she tried to remember to breath.

 _Drink from my cauldron full of hot, strong love_

Black was still shamelessly singing along and even Potter seemed to have gotten into the spirit now, passing the mead to those in the front row, making loud gestures at Slughorn who chortled fondly at the boy's antics. Even the ministry officials, who had been watching in shock the entire event spin from a harmless evening gathering to something definitely not, were enjoying themselves, pulling out the old moves and laughing at their own age.

 _It's all the magic you'll ever need!_

But all the commotion was lost on Alex and Regulus. They never saw Lily and Snape make a hash out of dancing or Potter witnessing this firsthand before hiding a hurt look that Lily Evans never would have imagined James Potter wearing. They never saw Sirius Black sweeping the seventh year off her feet and plant a generous kiss on her lips before being cursed by another seventh-year whom the girl had been dating for the last three years. They never saw Slughorn wipe the tears from his eyes and congratulate himself inwardly on having found the jewel that would become the next big thing on the Wizard radio (this, in fact, turned out to be true; Fiona Connolly topped the charts a few years later with her single, 'Bludgers Couldn't Drive Me Away.' But that's a story for another time). They didn't notice Rabastan Lestrange slip out of the party with another Slytherin girl after the fifth song was over and they didn't notice the fact that the curtain was semi-transparent and any careful observer would have seen them together in their small alcove, dancing wordlessly. They were lost in their own quiet world, breaths held in silent anticipation and nervousness, willing the world around them to disappear for a while.

* * *

A/N The lyrics to A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love were written by J. K. Rowling, and I disclaim any copyright. Brewery of Lies, on the other hand, _was_ written by yours truly;)


	15. Chapter 15

_Dear Alex,_

 _I'm sorry that you weren't able to come home for Christmas, but I thought it would be better if you stayed at the castle with your friends instead of at the house, since I haven't been there for some time. I am still in Paris, meeting with various scholars in the area. It's an exciting time of the year—a lot of publishing's being done before the new year—and, as you can imagine, it's quite lively and bustling. I do wish that you would be able to see it one day…_

Alex sighed and carefully began to fold the letter. She'd read it at least five times already—she wasn't going to learn anything new. Despite this, however, she found herself unfolding and rereading it five minutes later.

The correspondence between her mother and her had become more and more sporadic as the fourth year progressed, and, even though Sophia Wilson never said it outright in her letters, Alex knew that it had to do with the Order business. She didn't know if it was even safe for her mother to tell her where she was, but maybe protection charms were placed on the letter so that no one but Alex could read the letter. Or perhaps her mother was simply lying about her location. If it meant that her mother was safe, Alex supposed that she didn't mind, although the assortments of sweets that her mother had sent seemed to prove that she was, indeed, in Paris. Alex looked down at the creamy white confectionary box and the pale pink ribbon with both delight and distaste. What if this was the last present that she would ever receive from her mother? What if this was the last letter that she was going to receive from her? What if—what if…

She looked around. There was a small parcel from Leila, who had decided to give her perfume, of all things ( _not that you smell bad_ , she assured Alex in her letter, _but it's never a bad idea to have one_ ). Rebecca had remained reticent the entire holiday, but Alex supposed that she had every right to be upset; the scene that she encountered when she had come back from Slughorn's party had not been the happiest of images. She had arrived, half-dazed by the end (she couldn't tell if it was due to the loud music or _the-event-that-shall-not-be-spoken-of_ ), and at the beginning failed to catch exactly what was going on.

" _What happened?" she'd asked, arriving at her dorm to find Rebecca inconsolably wailing into her pillow and Leila sitting by her bedside, looking both worn out and irritated._

" _Regulus Black happened," she answered. "And then the potion really kicked in. She won't stop crying, the brat."_

" _DON'T CALL ME A BRAT!" Rebecca, it seemed, had abandoned her flawless etiquette._

 _Leila shook Rebecca by the shoulders. "Oi. Get a grip, willya?" She shook her head at Alex, rolling her eyes. "I'm guessing it was either too much mead or they'd tempered with the potion somehow. To make it stronger, I mean."_

" _Yeah," Alex muttered, the feel of Regulus's hand on her back still prominent in her mind. "Probably."_

" _I mean, what have I done?" Rebecca's voice had quietened down, but not by much._

" _The question would be, what haven't you done?" Leila muttered darkly. Unfortunately, the words weren't quiet enough to pass by Rebecca's ear unnoticed._

" _WHAT IS_ THAT _SUPPOSED TO MEAN?" her eyes blazed furiously and Leila seemed to catch on that retreat was the best policy._

" _Nothing," she said. "Just, that, you know, you've been pretty close the past few months. We weren't expecting this to happen, were we?" she gave Alex a frantic look and Alex nodded immediately._

" _Um," Alex said. "What happened again exactly?"_

" _I'll tell you what happened." With those words Rebecca sat up straight on her bed, hugging the pillow to her chest. "We went to Slughorn's party. We were having a good time. We were going to dance. Then he suddenly freaked out! Like some sort of a demented cat!"_

 _Alex doubted that the last part was true. "Why?"_

" _Because I called him Reg!" Rebecca began to wail again, and Leila gave Alex a pointed look. Apparently she'd made them go through the same story again for no one's benefit._

" _I mean," Rebecca continued, hiccuping. "I like him. So much. You know? And he never—he never said anything about not liking anything I did, or anything like that. You know? And I was asking him about getting out of the party for some alone time together, and he said fine, but then—but then—" Rebecca's hiccups became too much for her to go on and Leila took over, looking tired._

" _And then she did the unthinkable of calling him 'Reg' and now they're over."_

 _Leila's words seem to hit home for the second time and Leila began to pour out a new outburst of fresh tears, wailing into her pillow. Leila, recognizing a hopeless case when she saw one, decided not to continue with unsuccessful attempts to console Rebecca and sank to her own bed, sighing. Alex began to take the pins out of her hair one by one, not saying anything. She knew that she was supposed to feel bad for her roommate. That's what friends did, wasn't it? But the feeling threatening to erupt from her heart was nothing like pity or sorrow. She swallowed it down, willing for it not to appear on her face._

" _And where were you this entire time?" Leila asked from her bed crossly. Alex looked up._

" _Er," Alex said. "The party." Leila raised an eyebrow._

" _Didn't see you there," she said._

" _Yeah, I sort of—sort of hid in the corner after Potter and Black appeared. Didn't really want to give them a chance to pick on me, you know?" Alex grinned what she hoped was a sheepish grin. "Besides, it was sort of funny to watch all the people sing."_

" _Alright, then," Leila said offhandedly. "So I suppose I won't ask you why bats were coming out of Rabastan's nose, right?"_

 _Alex tried for a sheepish grin again. "Didn't you have enough drama for one night?"_

 _Leila scoffed. "Don't I know it," she muttered, closing her eyes. Alex fumbled with her dress._

" _Oi, Wilson?"_

 _Alex jumped uneasily in her spot before turning toward her direction. "What?"_

" _Those shoes better not have had stepped on anything fishy."_

That was the last she saw of her housemates, who had to catch the early train back home a few days ago the day after the party. Alex wondered if any of them met again during the holiday—Slytherins tended to have parties on during break—and wondered if _he_ was there, along with everybody else…

Regulus had not said much after the dance. In some ways Alex was glad that he didn't—it would have made things even stranger than they had been. But as they walked silently from Slughorn's office to the Common Room, Alex had been dying to know exactly what was going around in his little, reticent head. If he was as excited and confused as she was. If he noticed that she'd stepped on his toes exactly thirteen times. If he could tell that she had been counting. But he didn't say anything when they reached the Common Room. Instead, he smiled slightly, bade her a good night and happy holidays, squeezed her lightly on the shoulder, and _left_.

She looked at the third parcel. It had been even smaller than Leila's, and she had put off opening it, noticing that there was no name written on it. Alex supposed that it must have been from Regulus, but he wasn't the type to send things without names. The box was even smaller than her palm and she opened it easily.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust enough to see what it was. It was a necklace, that much she could see, but the pendant was something that she had never seen before. It looked like scribbles—or, more precisely, what scribbles would look like if someone bothered to place them on top of each other—and completely incomprehensible. Alex thought that she recognized parts of it from her Ancient Runes class, but if that were true, the runes were written in some sort of a script that she couldn't understand. In the middle of the scribble was a small, yellow stone that shined despite the dim light in her bedroom. The entire pendant was small, smaller than the nail of her thumb, and Alex could tell that it would have taken a skilled craftsman to forge it. But who?

She looked back in the box. There was a small piece of parchment attached to the inside of the walls, as if the sender did not want anyone to see the letter. Alex frowned. If someone had not wanted her to see it, the best action would have been to send nothing in the first place. She pried off the parchment with her fingernails and drew it close before her eyes, shifting her position so that she had better lighting. On it were written the words _happy holidays_.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest and she frowned, trying to contain her excitement. She knew that handwriting. She had spent hours reading that particular handwriting. Tracing it with her fingers. Breathing it in. It wasn't Reg's, but it was even better.

She wished that he was here so that she could ask him for the notebook. She knew that he had taken it home with him. But she didn't need confirmation—she would recognize the scratchy handwriting anywhere. It was Altair Wymond's handwriting, without doubt. She knew it. Her father's handwriting.

She began to pace. There could be many reasons why there would be a piece of parchment with her father's handwriting on it. It could be that he had written it in some different context and the sender, whoever it was, thought it would be funny or disturbing to send that particular phrase with the parcel. It could be that her father had nothing to do with the present. She didn't even know if he was alive. Perhaps someone who knew about her father and herself sent it to her out of pity or empathy. But then who?

It couldn't have been Regulus. He didn't know anything about Altair Wymond, no more than she did. And if he found out anything about him, he would have told her. Wouldn't he have told her?

It could also be her mother, but Alex doubted that. She hadn't said anything about him and, when Alex had asked, steadfastly refused until Alex stomped out of the room in tears. Then who?

Almost possessed, her fingers traced the chain until they reached the clasps. It felt almost pliant between her fingers. She drew her hair back and put the necklace around her neck, reaching at the nape of her neck to clasp it. The necklace fit her perfectly, as if someone had measured her neck and shoulder length. The pendant fell straight at the place between her collarbones, shining wickedly in its ancient magic. Alex swallowed.

Suddenly, a hot flare shot from the very middle of the pendant, traveling through the chain to the clasps like an electric shock. Alex gasped, automatically reaching for the chain. It felt warm in her hands, as if someone had tried to melt in in fire of a forgery. A stinging pain began to spread around her neck and she gingerly pressed her fingertips against her skin. She winced.

A reflection in her mirror told that the skin around the necklace was raw and pink, as if it had been burnt. A welt was already beginning to form there, a large, circular bump. She reached to the back of her neck to take the necklace off—she'd been stupid to put on something that was from someone she didn't know—but there was no clasp. She pulled at the chain, trying to see if she'd missed anything. The chain was smooth, as if it had been around her neck her entire life, as if her body had grown into it. It rubbed against and irritated her skin more and she stopped, panicking. She was't cursed, was she?

It didn't feel like it, other than the injury. She could still breath. Still move. And, if the warning of telltale signs published on the front cover of _Daily Prophet_ was true, she probably had more than enough time to seek medical help. Alex tried to remember if the Hospital Wing was open during the holiday. She didn't know. It was her first time staying during winter.

She mechanically began to pull on her robes and quickly made her way to the Hospital Wing. The corridors were eerily quiet and even the Great Hall was almost silent save for a tinkering of silverware against the plates. The air was cool, cooler than she remembered it being, and Alex remembered that there were much fewer bodies in the castle to warm the air. She remembered hearing from one of her professors that the number of children who stayed for the holiday had dramatically dropped in the recent years. The parents, they said, wanted to see their children safe and sound more than anything…

The door of the Hospital Wing was closed and Alex knocked unceremoniously.

"Yes?" only Madam Pomfrey's face was visible through the crack that she allowed to open and Alex felt a wave of relief roll through her despite the suspicious look in Madam Pomfrey's eyes. So she was here.

"I—er, I received this necklace for Christmas from an—from an unknown sender, and when I put it on it sort of burned my skin and—er—" not knowing exactly how to explain, Alex lifted the pendant and showed Madam Pomfrey the welt. It was a stupid action, Alex knew. Students were strictly warned against eating, drinking, or even touching anything whose origins they didn't know. She should have known better. But she _did_ know where it came from, or hoped that it came from her father—but hope was not something to place one's safety on…

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "I suppose you're alright," she muttered, and opened the door wider. Alex frowned and was about to ask her what she meant when someone else greeted her from one of the beds.

"Alex! It's been a while. How are you?" Remus Lupin was sitting on the bed at the farthest corner. The curtains around the bed had been drawn aside, and the crumpled state of the sheets as well as his pajamas indicated that he had been there for a while. Alex's brows rose in surprise.

"Lup—er, Remus. I didn't know that you were staying during the holiday." She lingered awkwardly between the two rows of bed as Madam Pomfrey waved impatiently at her to wait.

Remus' smile was wan and despite his smile, his face looked tired. "Mum and dad were a bit busy this season. I figured that staying might not be a bad option."

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Remus shrugged. "I'll see them this summer. I haven't seen you during the holidays, though. First time?"

"I—yeah. My mum was also busy." Her head was reeling. He couldn't have noticed that she hadn't stayed at school before unless he'd spent all his winters at Hogwarts, could he? "She has a new job." Which wasn't false.

Remus smiled sympathetically. "I hope everything's going alright," he said. Alex tried to smile.

"Everything's going perfectly—"

" _Not_ fine," Madam Pomfrey interrupted both of them, emerging from her office in her typical waddling gait. "Even the Headmaster had explicitly warned the students against exactly this kind of behavior during the Feast, Miss Wilson. If only you had been listening, you would have known!" Alex had indeed been listening, but, judging from the dirty look that Madam Pomfrey was throwing at her, Alex supposed that Madam Pomfrey had been expecting the worst of her behavior. Behind her Remus rolled his eyes good-humoredly. She grinned.

"Sorry," she said, not feeling sorry at all. She had been scared at first, remembering the dangers, but she was still alive and breathing, and somehow the necklace gave her a comforting kind of feeling…

"Hmph. Rub this on your skin—that's for your burn. Yes, Miss Wilson, the necklace burned your skin." Without further argument she gingerly rubbed a foul-smelling ointment around her neck. It felt cool against her skin. "Why do you still have it on?"

"It doesn't have a clasp," Alex said, giving the tin of ointment back to Madam Pomfrey. Her eyes narrowed.

"How did you put it on in the first place?"

"I mean, it had a clasp when it arrived, but as soon as I put it on, it sort of—vanished. After it—burned my skin, I mean." Madam Pomfrey's eyes grew narrower, if possible.

"I see," she said. "Then we have no other choice—we'll have to cut it."

Alex's eyes widened. "Um," she said. "Do we have to?"

"Of course we do, you silly little girl. It might be cursed! It burned your neck!" Alex had forgotten just how irritable Madam Pomfrey could be toward the Slytherins. One needed look no further than what happened after quidditch games, when she would attend to players from every other house before tending to the Slytherin players.

"Well, it's just that—it might be from a family member. A relative. He sometimes doesn't bother with names, you see, and it's just always been that way—"

"We don't have time for this nonsense," Madam Pomfrey snapped and, without a warning, reached for the necklace with one hand and her wand with the other. " _Diffindo_ ," she said firmly.

What happened next, Alex was glad to be able to say she was not responsible for. There was even a witness who could vouch for it. As soon as the incantation left Madam Pomfrey's mouth, something bounced off the necklace and threw Madam Pomfrey off her feet. Alex looked around in shock as the plump nurse was lifted several feet into the air before landing unceremoniously on her bottom. Even the imperturbable Remus seemed surprised.

"That's it," Madam Pomfrey said. "That object needs to go away."

Despite everything, Alex found herself clutching the pendant protectively with her hand. "I—"

"Madam Pomfrey," Remus said from his corner. "It looks like the necklace has some charm to protect itself against attempts to break it. I don't know much about protective charms, but I feel like there's a possibility of harming Alex if you tried any more complex spells." When both of the witches stared at him, he looked a little embarrassed. "We're on the unit of protective spells in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class." Alex knew for a fact that they were not going to get to that unit until spring but didn't say anything.

"She looks like she's healthy," Remus added.

"She looks healthy now," Madam Pomfrey's voice was gentler. "But we don't know what's going to happen in the next hour. Or even next week or next month. Sometimes these spells are latent. They don't reveal themselves until someone triggers them."

"Are there detection charms that we could use?" he asked. Madam Pomfrey shook her head.

"The detection charms are usually very specific. Unless you knew exactly what you were looking for, the only option is to go through each and every spell until you exhaust every possibility you can think of. Which is why," she said, throwing Alex a disapproving look, "you simply don't put them on in the first place." Alex decided that arguing would not be the wisest of options.

"What about tests?" Remus suggested. "There are tests to measure the level of Dark Magic in your body, right? And she could have tonics just in case the levels go up."

Madam Pomfrey seemed to consider this. "That," she said. "Is a smart idea. Thank you, Mr. Lupin." Without looking back at her, Madam Pomfrey swished out of the Hospital Wing. Alex sank to the nearest bed, feeling an odd sense of deja-vu. She'd been in one of the beds before, hadn't she? Yes, almost four years ago…

"Thank you," she said. "About Madam Pomfrey. She can be a bit—"

"A bit over the top, yeah." Remus nodded. "You should see the fights James gets in with her. He's always trying to wriggle out of a treatment so he can get back to practice. After a while you learn a thing or two."

"I'm sure," she said wryly.

"Besides," he continued. "You said it was from a family member, right? It's not as if your family's going to curse you."

Alex looked at her shoes and tapped her feet against the floor. "Yeah," she said. "I guess." She looked around, feeling uncomfortable. "Why were you here, though? I doubt that you put on a fishy necklace from a relative."

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Madam Pomfrey came in with a bottle of something and a very suspicious-looking syringe.

"Settle down," she said briskly. "You're going to be here for a while."

The procedure did take longer than she expected—all morning, in fact, and by the time it ended she was starving and sporting several needle punctures on her arm. Madam Pomfrey had said several times that she needed her blood, but Alex wasn't sure why she would need it in such large quantities.

"The results seem positive for now," Madam Pomfrey said, looking slightly dissatisfied. "You may leave, I suppose. _Not_ you, Mr. Lupin," she said sharply to Remus, who had made a move to rise from his bed. "You're still under watch."

"But I've been here for three days, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "Usually you let me go after a day or two."

"That is because of your classes," Madam Pomfrey said stiffly. "Unless you have a pressing lecture during the break that you need to attend, I suggest that you remain here for at least a week." At this suggestion Remus' face became horrorstruck, but Alex thought she saw something else there, too—resignation, perhaps? He didn't argue further.

"Er—I can come and visit, if you'd like," she said awkwardly. "Bring you books or something, if you're bored." At this Remus looked away, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Oh—that's fine. Really," he said hastily, fiddling with the sewing at the edge of his sheets. "You needn't trouble yourself."

"No, I mean—I don't have anyone else to talk to," Alex said bluntly. "And it can't be easy, being cooped up in here. Have you seen the snow outside?"

Remus smiled faintly. "I don't think you'll be allowed to sneak snow in here," he said.

Alex grinned. "You never know," she said.

The next time they met was a few hours later in late afternoon. Alex decided that it would not be a bad idea to share the box of confectionary that her mother had sent her with Remus and, as it turned out, Remus had a particular weakness for sweets. After lunch they sat together in the Hospital Wing, wondering at the decorative sumptuousness of the goods inside the pale box.

"Blimey," Remus said. "And I thought that eating chocolate frogs was indulgent." True to his words, there was a stack of chocolate frog boxes stacked on his bedside table with a small note sticking out at the bottom. They were from Potter, Remus explained.

"Well," Alex said, thoughtfully peering at the layer of cream perfectly squeezed between the two macarons. "This certainly does put things in perspective." Without further hesitation she took a big bite into the small macaron. An inadvertent smile crept up her face.

"Heh," she said dreamily like a five-year-old.

"Mmm," Remus agreed, picking up the crumbs that had fallen onto the bed sheet before quickly putting them in his mouth. "I swear—I'm getting a job in France after I graduate."

"Can you take me with you? I'll pay half the rent..." Alex trailed off, now observing another macaron. Shame—how quickly they disappeared. "Hazelnut?" she asked Remus, who had taken a similar one.

Remus nodded. "With chocolate filling. It's lovely." Alex hesitated before gingerly putting it down, taking care not to squish its shape. Remus looked at her oddly.

"What's wrong?"

Alex looked up, feeling oddly guilty. "It's nothing," she said quickly. "I was thinking that I had enough."

Remus looked slightly alarmed. "I mean, if you want to save them for later—" he began.

"It's not that," Alex protested. "It's just—well—" she looked around helplessly, trying to come up with a reason other than the one in her head. Remus raised his eyebrow, looking curious and inflexible. Alex tried to shrug nonchalantly.

"I just know someone who really likes hazelnut and… I figured that he would like to have it more than I do." Alex cleared her throat. "I mean, he's probably had dozens like this before, but..." she trailed off again, fiddling with the ribbon that held the box together. Remus was looking at her thoughtfully and Alex felt an unwilling flush creep up her cheeks.

"You can have more, if you want," she said almost defensively.

"It's not that," he said slowly. "I already had more than enough. Thank you. It's just that—well, forgive me for asking, and I don't want to intrude, but—" now Remus seemed hesitant. "Do you honestly like him?"

His words made her heart sink. Was she that obvious? But then she told herself that it may not be Regulus that he was talking about. For all she knew, Remus could have been talking about Rabstan or Filch or even Peeves the Poltergeist.

"Who do you mean?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

Remus now looked rather uncomfortable. "Well—it's just that you've been friends for years, and Sirius was always going on about his brother—" he stopped. "Sorry. It's not my business. It's just that Sirius said some things this year that made me pause. That's all."

Alex didn't know whether she felt intrigued or helpless. So he _had_ noticed. She cleared her throat. "What exactly did he say?" she said, failing to meet his eyes. Remus, it seemed, was not feeling any more comfortable.

"Nothing specific," he said vaguely. "Just that he had some juicy dirt on his brother and that it might be fun to tell you and see what happens." He began to fiddle with a chocolate frog box. "I mean, I wouldn't have said anything, but Sirius can be a tad obtuse about these things, and after what happened in the Transfiguration class, I figured—I might as well tell you." Now he was looking earnestly at Alex and Alex got a sense that she was supposed to understand something without it being spelled out but she couldn't for the life of her understand what Remus was trying to tell her.

"I don't understand," she said plainly. Remus sighed.

"Well," he said. "I guess I'm trying to tell you that—Sirius means well. You know. What he did. During Transfiguration class. He didn't mean to harass you, or anything like that. He was trying to help. I think. I hope. He just noticed that you two had been drifting apart for a while and he wanted to help Regulus out. I think. I hope."

Alex looked quizzically at Remus. "That was more than a month ago," she said. Remus made a frustrated gesture with his hand.

"Yeah—yeah. I guess it was. Blimey, this is harder than I thought." He sat up straighter. "You know, I had to break it to James once that Lily just wasn't interested in him—I thought _that_ was hard. And Sirius was there, too, with Peter. Took us almost three hours before he even conceded to the _possibility_ that she may not be interested in him. That was a long night." He laughed uneasily and Alex tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Potter's unhealthy obsession with Lily may have been funny had it not been for the fact that it was scary—the amount of disregard Potter displayed toward Lily Evans was scary. And he was supposed to _like_ her. Were all boys like that? Remus in front of her seemed decent enough…

"What I'm trying to say is," Remus said. "Is that Sirius said that Regulus was avoiding you for a reason. A justifiable reason. And that it was a stupid reason and that Regulus should get it together and be a man. The last part was from Sirius, not me."

"Remus," Alex sighed. " _What are you trying to say_?"

"Regulus Black likes you," Remus blurted out. Almost immediately, he seemed to regret having said something like that out loud. He looked warily at her for her reaction.

Alex stared back blankly. "I beg your pardon?" she asked politely.

"Well, what Sirius said was a bit different," Remus said, shifting uneasily. "But stripped down to the essentials, that's about it."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Exactly what did he say, then?" she asked. Remus now looked acutely in pain.

"Forget I said anything," he muttered. "It was a bad idea to begin with, anyway. You guys should be able to figure things out on your own, and Sirius just thought that it would be fun to mess around with his brother again—"

"Remus, exactly _what did he say_?"

"I—" Remus hesitated. "Look, it's not as if we go around talking about this kind of stuff all the time, okay? It's just that, well, sometimes Sirius likes to talk about his brother, and I admit, most of the times it's nothing complimentary, but James doesn't really like to hear about Regulus and I've become sort of a sounding board for him. About his brother. You know? I mean, I don't mind hearing about his brother, it's not that bad, honestly, and I don't have siblings, so it's sort of funny at times to watch Sirius talk about Regulus, you know, until he gets to the bad stuff, but—I mean, so their rooms are on the same floor and, you know, the same house, they sort of get in tuned with each other's habits, you know? Even though you don't really intend to. And Sirius sort of said—well, implied, really—that he's seen his brother sort of—well—I don't know what's a good way to put it—sort of thinking about you."

" _Thinking_ about me."

"Yes, thinking about you in a—well—in a different context. From friendship."

"In a different context."

"Okay, I mean, in a very specific context."

"A _specific_ context."

"I have to confess that thinking was a bad word choice. I meant to say—no, not what I meant to say, but that Sirius sort of implied that Regulus was sort of—fantasizing about you." Now poor Remus' cheeks were redder than ripe strawberries.

Alex frowned. "What does that even _mean_?" she asked. Remus looked like someone had jut announced to him that Honeydukes was closing.

"Oh, Merlin," he groaned into his hands. "I should have never brought it up. It was the macarons. I blame the macarons."

"It's not that I don't know what fantasizing means," Alex said defensively, feeling a bit of blush spread in her cheeks despite herself. "But, you know. Most of it's just talk. Just talk and… stuff. It doesn't really mean anything. Right? Right?" She managed to look straight at Remus, who only looked back at her with what almost looked like pity.

"Alex," Remus said gently. "I know that you two have been friends for a while, but… Regulus is a boy. A fourteen-year-old boy. I'm not saying that he said anything obscene to Sirius—or anyone, for that matter—but…"

"That doesn't have to mean anything," Alex protested. "Fourteen-year-old boy. You make it sound like a crime. Just because he's a boy and he's fourteen doesn't have to mean that—that he sees girls that way."

"Alex," Remus said. "We've all witnessed his relationship with Rebecca. I think the whole school noticed."

Alex rubbed the place between her brows. _That_ was one mental picture that she could completely do without. "Don't say that," she muttered.

"Look, I'm not saying that Regulus suddenly turned into something that he isn't. I think he spent most of his time denying it. Threatened to hex Sirius to the next decade when Sirius approached him to talk to him about it, actually." Remus chuckled. "Blimey. I would have loved to see that." At Alex's reproachful look he quickly grew somber. "Sorry," he said. Alex looked down at her hands.

"He can't possibly see me that way," she said quietly. Next to her Remus' brows furrowed.

"Why not?" he asked, bemused.

"Because—because—I don't know. Because I'm me? And you've seen how he is with Rebecca—I'm nothing like her. He doesn't like me that way."

Remus frowned. "I should _hope_ that he doesn't like you that way. I mean, it's none of my business, but—you deserve better than _that_."

Alex didn't say anything, fiddling with her hands. Her mind kept going back to Slughorn's party, the dance, his fingertips pressing against her spine. He couldn't. He simply couldn't. Did she want him to? She didn't know.

"I think you're wrong," she said at last. "He doesn't see me that way."

Remus sighed. "You might be right. I just thought that I should tell you what Sirius thought and—and what I thought, too. He can be a little inappropriate and—well, I didn't want him to surprise you in an unpleasant way. Also, I think that—" there he stopped, looking a bit far into distance.

"What?" Alex found herself asking in spite of herself.

The look in Remus' eyes was oddly glassy. Farther off than most conversations merited. "Well," he said. "It's an extraordinary happening, don't you think—when two people both care for and want each other? You see it so often that you think it's nothing, but—it's an unbelievable coincidence of feelings. I don't want it to go to waste."

Alex tried to joke it off. "Are we even talking about me anymore?" she said. She didn't want to face the enormity of the possibility. Was it—could it be—no. No. _No_. He couldn't. And even if he was—they were fantasies. Completely physical. Alex didn't—she didn't want completely physical. Did she? No. No, she didn't. She wanted—no, she did not want anything.

She wanted more. Which was ridiculous, because Regulus felt nothing like that toward her. He couldn't.

"No," Remus said, rolling his eyes. Alex was too caught in her own train of thoughts, however, to notice the slight, uneasy shift of his gaze toward the pile of presents on his bed table.

"Let's talk about something else," Alex suggested after gazing at the afternoon winter sun. Thankfully, Remus seemed to agree.

"Alright," he said. "Have you tried the newest chocolate frog? James sent me some, and apparently, they decided to sprinkle the bellies with sprinkles and cookie crumbs..."

So the rest of their break passed by. Remus was, to his relief, released before the new year began. Alex realized that there was much to be done in two weeks: the pair spent several hours building a snowman near the groundkeeper's hut; stayed in the dining hall until all the other professors retired; swapped chocolate frog cards; even discussed Quidditch once upon an occasion, although the discussion fell short when the topic broached the subject of Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry.

But time flew by, regardless of how Alex was feeling, and it was soon the weekend before the first week of class. Students had been trickling in by Flu Network all morning, and Alex supposed that she would be seeing Leila and—him—quite soon. She shook her head as she briskly walked down the corridor toward the Hospital Wing. The nurse witch, apparently dissatisfied with the fact that Alex's complexion was healthy, decided that the best course of action was to measure her blood for Merkel level every week. Alex didn't mind taking the tests as much as going to the Hospital Wing itself; she didn't like the place and, if anything else, Madam Pomfrey had a way of making her worry more than she ought. She entered the Hospital Wing. It was empty. Alex sighed—she hoped Madam Pomfrey would be here soon.

A noise came from a direction. Alex turned her head. Madam Pomfrey's office. The door was slightly ajar. Alex frowned. Usually, Madam Pomfrey was obsessed about keeping her office door closed, in case a strain of errant disease entered her medicine cupboard. And if it was she who was in her office, than she would have heard Alex enter and come out. So who was it then?

Something crashed in her office, followed by a low swearing. It was unmistakably not Madam Pomfrey.

Alex reached for the wand inside her robe and slowly drew herself up from her sitting position, cautiously approaching the office. The noise stopped, and it didn't feel like anyone was trying to vandalize anything—if anything, it seemed like the person was trying to put the vials back together. Alex frowned. Vials? Her hand reached for the doorknob and she gripped her wand tightly. Three, two, one…

The person she found behind the door was the least person she would have suspected of breaking in and entering.

"Reg?!" she said, and then what she saw stopped her breath short.


	16. Chapter 16

"Reg?!" she exclaimed, frowning at the face half-hidden in the dark office. "What are you doing here?"

Regulus, for the first time, was looking at her with a deer-in-headlight face. "Um," he said, apparently lost for words. He stared at her, as though she was the one who should know the answer to her question. Alex's frown grew deeper.

"What's that in your hand—" she stopped short. "Are you _stealing_ something?" Alex associated many things with Regulus—Quidditch, far too immaculate essays, and poorly hidden fondness for chocolate—but stealing wasn't one of them. Regulus Arcturus Black didn't need to steal. He didn't have to. He could afford practically everything in life. Something that Alex still couldn't wrap her head around.

Her accusation seemed to shake Regulus out of his momentary freeze. "No," he said quickly, his hands immediately moving to go behind his back. He winced. Alex started, but he waved her question off, almost casually stepping out of the office with his hand still behind his back. Alex tried to peer around him, but somehow he managed to block her line of view.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked, his hand still behind his back. Alex blinked.

Regulus looked the same as ever—the same as the last time she'd seen him in the Common Room after Slughorn's party, but something was off. He was pale. Perhaps too pale. The shadows beneath his eyes seemed a little darker than usual, and there was something in his face—his lips seemed less firmly set, his eyes a little more uncertain.

"Long story," she said. "Madam Pomfrey wanted to run some tests on me again—"

"There you are!" Madam Pomfrey's sharp voice never failed to make her jumpy. "Right on time for once. The ruddy first-years thought it would be _funny_ to spread news that a group of sixth-year students splinched themselves after illegal apparation..."

"I'll see you later," Regulus said quietly, but failed to escape Madam Pomfrey's radar.

"Mr. Black. How convenient. I had some things to run by you. Physical education for Quidditch players. Mostly standard safety regulations, but there is new information."

"Madam Pomfrey, I'm afraid that I'm in a rush at the moment—"

"Rubbish, this will only take a second." By _this_ , Madam Pomfrey carelessly waved her hand at Alex, who watched Regulus with increasing suspicion. Regulus was standing straight and tall as usual, but that seemed to take far too much effort.

"Madam Pomfrey, I—" Regulus began to protest, but Madam Pomfrey stopped him by beginning to rattle off a list of regulations that the players were supposed to keep in mind, all the while sticking various syringes into Alex's arm. Alex listened silently, not sure where she was direct her gaze. She'd been looking forward to seeing Reg all winter, and when she finally saw him, the most prominent feeling in her feeling was awkwardness. Nervousness. They danced together—did that mean anything? Some people danced for fun and nothing else, and Regulus could have simply wished to enjoy the party. And Remus's words, that Reg _liked_ her. _Fantasized_ about her. The idea made her feel hopeful and more despondent at the same time. Hopeful that she wasn't the only person who could conceive of the idea that Regulus might feel something for her. But all she had to do was look at herself in the mirror, and the hopefulness would vanish. She wasn't pretty, she wasn't accomplished, she was clumsy, far too clueless, and—simply unlikable. She wasn't stupid, Alex supposed, and she did have her strong points, but there was nothing about her that would elicit adoration. She sighed, unaware of Madam Pomfrey's prattle around her head.

"Miss Wilson!"

She looked up abruptly, surprised.

"Yes?" she asked sheepishly.

Madam Pomfrey harrumphed. "Your listening skills clearly need improvement. I said that I told the Headmaster about the incident—he needed to be alerted about such objects entering the castle. He has asked me to defer further testing until actual symptoms of poisoning show. You do not have to come see me any longer." Madam Pomfrey did not seem very pleased with this development, and Alex tried to hide her relief.

"Alright then," she said, hopping off the bed. "Am I clear to go?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded stiffly, and Alex walked out of the Hospital Wing, Regulus silently following behind her.

"Why did you need to see her in the first place anyway?" Regulus asked. They were heading toward the dungeons—at least, Alex assumed that they were, as they made their way to the nearest staircase.

"Er—so I got this necklace this Christmas—Reg?" a loud tumble came from behind her and Alex whipped her head around, alarmed. Behind her Regulus was kneeling at the foot of the staircase, hanging precariously by the banister. His left hand was clutching his abdomen and his face was now beyond pale. She rushed to his side.

"Regulus, what's wrong?" she asked, trying not to panic. Panic would not get them anywhere.

"Injury," Regulus gasped. "Needed… medicine… Pomfrey's office." Alex grabbed his shoulders and tried to stand him up. Regulus lost his balance again and Alex's grip on his ribcage tightened, making him wince more pronouncedly.

"Sorry," she said. "We can go back to the Hospital Wing—"

" _No_ ," Regulus gasped with surprising strength. "People… can't… see. No one. _No one_ , Alex." He looked straight into her eyes and Alex tried not to remain stable underneath the intensity of his gaze.

"All right," she said, trying to be soothing. "All right. Er—I think Moaning Myrtle's bathroom is just a floor down. Would that be too far away?" she asked, and Regulus shook his head. But his breath was shaky.

The way to the bathroom was an arduous one, made even harder by Regulus straightening to stand up every time someone passed by, which just worsened his condition. By the time they arrived at the deserted bathroom he was barely breathing.

"Sit," Alex said, pointing at a convenient bench near the fountain. "Robe off."

Regulus coughed. "I… ganno… it…"

"You can barely articulate. Give me the medicine and take your robe off." Alex's voice sounded strange, even to her. It was as if a third, objective observer had taken over to assess the situation and find a solution. Regulus apparently noted this change and decided not to argue. Alex scrubbed her hand clean with water and sat down in front of him to examine the would, hoping that his injury was nothing serious.

Unfortunately, it was.

"Reg," she said, her voice strained. "Just exactly how long did you have this wound untreated?"

A long, ugly red gash ran from his sternum to his left side, thick and vital, as if the injury had a life of its own. From what Alex could tell, it was not fresh; the skin near the injury had swollen and refused to come back down, and even though the wound had begun to set, it still glistened with blood. Alex carefully opened the tin can Regulus had managed to pocket and sniffed. A familiar smell of wintergreen that she remembered from her first visit to Hospital Wing the day after Halloween greeted her again.

"Not… long," Regulus winced when cold cloth met his skin.

"Relax," she said, trying to sound more certain about what she was doing than she felt. "Just water. I'm trying to clean the area around it." Regulus nodded weakly.

"Should I ask how you got it?" she asked almost conversationally as she rubbed a dollop of ointment between her fingers, trying to make it smoother. Regulus didn't answer.

"I thought Kreacher was knowledgable in all things household," Alex said dryly. Regulus winced again when the ointment made contact with his skin.

"He doesn't know," Regulus gasped.

"You mean you didn't tell him," she said flatly.

Regulus didn't answer.

"Reg—I—" Alex paused. She had an idea of how he may have gotten the wound, _if_ she believed all the rumors that flew around about the Black family. She didn't want to believe them, and Regulus never said anything about any of those rumors. In fact, he had always been reticent about his family. But that silence made her more concerned now than any excuse would have.

"Just how many scars _do_ you have, Reg?" she asked quietly. "I've seen five, so far." Regulus didn't reply.

"I don't want to pry—"

"Then don't," the words were said so sharply that Alex had to look up from her position. Their eyes met and Regulus looked away.

"Sorry," he muttered, but didn't elaborate. Alex looked down and continued to dab ointment carefully on the gash.

"I ran out of first-aid ointments some time ago," Regulus said after a while. "I didn't want to ask Kreacher to go out and get some. Questions. And I was under house arrest."

Alex turned to the bit of gauze that Regulus had apparently managed to grab in his surprise. "Sirius left again?" she asked.

"Yup," the p popped and rang through the empty bathroom. Alex sighed.

This provoked Regulus than anything else—or so it seemed from what followed.

"It's not always because of that," Regulus said quickly. "It's unpredictable. I mean, there are triggers, but—she doesn't mean it, she really doesn't."

"Regulus, what exactly doesn't she mean?" Alex looked sadly at her friend's face, and thought that she spied signs of guilt there, as though it was _his_ fault that he got injured. He looked away, apparently unwilling to say any more. Alex turned back to the gauze.

"How much do you know about my family?"

Alex looked up, surprised at the question, but Regulus was still looking at somewhere else. She turned her attention back to the task, also looking at somewhere else.

"Not much," she said. "The Black family has been around for a while. That's all I know, basically."

"A long time," Regulus repeated quietly. "You're right. Since the late Middle Ages _at_ _latest_. And another thing that my family is famous for is—intermarrying. Between relatives."

Alex considered. "Okay," she said.

"To keep the line pure, I mean."

"I gathered."

"Some families are more flexible," Regulus said. "Rowles, for instance—they only observe up to the fourth generation. If the parents, grandparents and great-grandparents were purebloods, they're fine with whoever they want. We go a bit higher. And—well—the consequence of that was that my ancestors didn't really trust anyone else's bloodline except their own. So—intermarrying it was."

Alex merely cut the tape into precise lengths but didn't answer.

"It turns out that intermarrying doesn't really have a whole lot of benefits besides being able to tell your ancestry with certainty," Regulus said after a while. "You might have heard of some of the lesser preferable characteristics—erm. Physical weakness. Prone to illness." Regulus coughed. "Mental instability."

"Reg—"

"My mother," he said. "What they whisper behind our backs—it's true. Surely you must've heard about it." He gave her a look that dared her to say otherwise and Alex hated the fact that Regulus assumed she would react like the rest.

"I have," she said frankly. "I didn't catch the full meaning. They were all in passing."

"Well," Regulus muttered darkly. "Being wealthier than others have its perks, I suppose."

Alex didn't answer.

"Episodes, I believe they're politely referred to," Regulus went on. "In dinner talk. If the subject comes up at all. Ma—maniac episodes. My mom's literally mad, Alex. Sirius sometimes go around talking about how insane our parents' ideas are, but the truth is—she's quite acutely and actually mad." He was looking down at her with a searching look in his eyes and Alex didn't know what he was looking for.

"I'm sorry," she said the only thing that she knew how to say.

Regulus looked away. "Some people think it's inherited," he said quietly. "Jumps every generation, my uncle Alphard likes to say. It can't be true—uncle Cygnus and Alphard are quite lucid. But it does occur with increasing frequency. Bellatrix, even though no one would say it to her face. Aunt Lucretia." He swallowed. "Who knows. I might be next." Regulus smiled jokingly at her, but his voice cracked at the last word and Alex unconsciously took his hand.

"You won't," she said firmly. "You're not mad. You're the most grounded person I know."

"Not," Regulus said wryly, "for the lack of trying. I can't afford to lose control."

"Reg—" she hesitated, wondering if there ever was a correct way to talk about this. "Has your mother seen—healers? I don't know much about wizard medicine, but—"

"Can't afford to," Regulus sighed. Alex looked uncomprehendingly at him and for some reason Regulus grinned.

"Ah, well, you might not understand," he said. "Sometimes I thank Merlin that you don't. Otherwise you might run away from me." Alex opened her mouth to protest but Regulus merely shook his head.

"It's quite simple, actually," he said. "Many people watch my family with great interest. If they heard that my mother saw a Healer, they would force the reason out of the Healer in a heartbeat."

" _Force_?"

"Well," Regulus said. "The healer would have naturally signed a nondisclosure agreement, of course."

"Of course." Alex repeated faintly.

"Solicitors, mostly. From people in our family circle. The closest one are always the first one to strike." The phrase sounded like something that he had heard often.

"What do you mean—"

"There's a nifty bit of fortune tied to my mother's name," Regulus said drily. "Not to mention ventures, investments, patents. Most of them were inherited, of course, and it's been a long time since my mother has overseen any of them. Anyone who has any relationship tied to my mother would approach—and that's just the beginning."

"I—" Alex hesitated again. "I'm sorry." She sounded like a broken record and she desperately wished that she knew what to say, but she feared that everything she could say would make things worse. Instead, she squeezed his hand again. Regulus looked away.

"And your wound—"

"Ah. Most of the times she's… in almost perfect control of her faculties. Most of the time. It's just that sometimes… she slips up. And… it's a bit like being a child wizard again, I suppose." Regulus rubbed the space between his brows, apparently deep in thought. "I've tried to read up on it, but the studies done on wizard madness has always been biased. As children, we have no control over our magic, and it is a bit like that—but the difference is, an adult wizard is capable of much wider array of magic, and when she gets… a bit like that she has no control over all the possibilities she can choose from. Most of the times it's not—it's not injurious. Just a few days ago she made the entire tea tray float like clouds. _Wingardium leviosa_." Regulus tried to smile at her as though it was nothing, but Alex could feel how her face had hardened. She tried to smooth it, but she didn't have the restraint that Regulus had.

"And when it's not you get injured," Alex said flatly.

Regulus hesitated. "Yes," he said at last.

"Like this," she said.

"Like this."

"This bad?"

Again hesitation. "Sometimes better, sometimes worse," he said quietly.

"Reg—"

"Don't," he said.

"But—"

"Don't look at me like that," he said.

Alex felt like her heart was breaking. "Like what?" she asked.

"Like you pity me," Regulus answered, as though it was the dirtiest word in the world. "Don't."

"Reg, I—" she struggled. "You've seen what my life was like back home. Did you pity me then?"

He sighed. "No," he said.

"And neither do I," Alex said gently. Regulus sighed again.

"But I was angry," he said dryly. "And irritated. And worried. You don't need to be worried or angry for me."

"Of course I'll be worried," Alex said exasperatedly. "You almost fainted today because of your injury. At least get it properly treated."

"And explain that how, may I ask?" he was looking at her with an amused look that made her even sadder than anything else. "I can't let the word get out that Walburga Black is so far gone as to inflict magic on her own children."

"And—your dad? Can't he—can't he help?" Alex asked tentatively. Regulus talked even less about his father than about his mother.

"He's not around, much," he muttered. "Nobody enjoys having an insane wife, apparently." Alex knew that the flippant tone was just a disguise—a disguise that allowed him to even talk about this. It was the only way he could. Alex tried not to look too concerned, knowing that Regulus wouldn't like it, but—how was she supposed to be nonchalant about this?

"Does he know?" she asked quietly.

Regulus sighed. "He's the only one in the house who can… hold her down until it passes. When he's not there, it's up to me—she ends up harming herself more than anyone else, so I have to be there."

"And he's not there often."

Regulus gave her a wry look. "Remember the Ninth Cygnus and his mistresses?" he asked suddenly. Alex nodded.

"Let's just say that Black men are assured of two things: unsatisfactory wives and temporary mistresses." Regulus laughed humorlessly. "I certainly look forward to them."

"Reg, it doesn't—it doesn't have to be that way." Alex said quietly. "And you know it doesn't have to be that way." Regulus was looking at her in a strange way, and she looked away, feeling oddly flustered.

"No," he said slowly. "I suppose it doesn't always have to be that way." A small silence ensued. Alex toyed with a bit of leftover strip of bandage.

"Does—does Sirius know?" she asked eventually. Regulus scoffed.

"Why else do you think he always goes away?" Regulus asked, not without bitterness. "That prat. That actually makes her conditions worse."

"So he's just leaving you there in your house?" Alex asked, outraged. Yes, she knew Sirius Black wasn't the most responsible student, and yes, she knew that he paid little attention to anything besides his own and his friends' happiness, but this—

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded. "We've known each other for—for almost four years—"

"And how," Regulus said dryly, "should I have started the conversation? Oh, good afternoon, Alex, how's the Charms essay going—by the way, my mom's a tiny bit mad."

"Reg," Alex said reproachfully, but was no strength behind that reproach.

"Or—corking good to see you, Alex. Have you read any interesting articles on madness lately?"

"Reg," Alex sighed.

"It's just—" Regulus paused, hesitating.

"She doesn't mean to," he finally said, all traces of sarcasm gone from his voice. Alex found him looking earnestly at her, almost pleading, as though begging her to understand. "She really doesn't. She can't control herself. She—she loves us. Both of us. She really does."

"Reg—" Alex sighed. "You're her son. And parents aren't—"

"Precisely," Regulus said. "I'm her son. I'm the only thing she has left, Alex." He was still looking earnestly at her and Alex wished that he would stop being so sincere about everything, because it made telling him what she thought much harder.

"All she has is me," Regulus repeated. "I can't let her down."

Alex debated. Would there be—no, there would be no use in arguing. He didn't need arguing right now. Alex didn't think he needed any logic, despite all the logic that he employed to do what he was supposed to do. What was expected of him to do.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat awkwardly. "And you have me, I suppose."

A strange light came into Regulus' eyes but he didn't say anything.

"You're not alone. So—stop leaving these wounds untreated and—owl me, or something. I'll try to—I don't know, send you medicine, or do anything I can, and—" whatever she was going to say next never made it to her lips. Regulus pulled her toward him, hard, and her words stopped short as her face made contact with his bandaged chest. Alex swallowed.

"Enough," he said softly. "That's—that's enough." His arms were tightly wound around her shoulders, pressing her to him, and his face was buried in her hair. Her heartbeat accelerated so quickly that she thought her heart couldn't bear it. Regulus smelled like—like blood and wintergreen ointment and—clean. Warm.

Remus' words came to her again for the thousandth time, and Alex finally realized that they didn't matter. So maybe Regulus thought about her in that way once or twice and found it too awkward to talk to her afterwards. That's not who he was—that was not who they were. _This_ mattered much more. What they had. And she couldn't ruin it by—by being worried about how he felt about her, or—or how she felt about him. To do that would be a waste of what they already had. Alex swallowed with some difficulty. It hurt already, to think about it…

"Y'know," she said casually, her voice still muffled. "I think I have the perfect thing for the occasion."

Alex could hear his eyebrow raise and smiled despite herself. "Oh?" Regulus asked simply.

"Yup." Alex said. "Macarons. Mom sent them for Christmas. They really are divine."

"Alex—" Regulus began to protest, but Alex could hear the smile in his voice.

"Come on," she said, standing up and pulling him along with her. "Let's go to dinner. Wouldn't want to spoil our appetite. Then I'll bring the macarons."

Regulus stared silently at her for a few seconds. Then, he began to silently put on his robe and straighten the garment. He looked up from his position.

"Shall we?" he asked, holding out his hand. Alex took it, grinning.

* * *

Dinner turned out to be a somewhat awkward business, although Alex wasn't exactly sure how it turned out to be what it was.

It began, unfortunately, with Rebecca.

It appeared that the poor fourth-year had attempted to contact Regulus several times over the holiday, and had even attempted to engage him in a conversation during the train ride. Regulus, at that time, had been still reeling from the injury and managed to fall asleep from exhaustion, and no one dared to wake him up. His sudden disappearance after the train ride made Rebecca naturally anxious and when he finally came back—lo and behold—it was, of course, with Alex. Who else. Alex tried not to fidget nervously as they sat down on the dinner table. Leila smirked across from her, her hand toying carelessly with Rosier's fingers.

"How was your break, Alex?" she asked. "Eventful?"

Alex gave her a look. Regulus seemed almost unaware of his surroundings and began to pile food on his plate automatically.

"Regulus!" Rebecca's high-pitched voice told them exactly how stressed she was. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

Regulus looked up from his plate, almost as if he were coming out of a reverie. Alex frowned—was he in shock from the wound? He seemed lucid enough ten minutes ago… "Oh," he said. "Hello, Rebecca. How have you been?"

Rebecca was staring back at him almost disbelievingly. And, if Alex was being honest, she was a little sympathetic toward her. He broke up with her less than three weeks ago and the first thing he tells her after meeting her is—how have you been? Across from them Leila raised his eyebrow again, now looking at Alex questioningly. Alex looked helplessly back at her, clueless. Unfortunately, Rebecca seemed to be more aware of how she was feeling.

"Regulus," she said, getting to the point. "I miss you."

Almost half the table went silent at this declaration. A girl making this kind of statement in public was almost unheard of in the Slytherin house—maybe in Gryffindor, where everyone was declaring their feelings left and right. But not in the Slytherin house. Everyone looked uneasily at each other. Leila let go of Rosier's hand and focused on an ambiguous spot far away. Alex looked uneasily at her fork. Next to her Regulus shifted uneasily.

"Er," he said. "Rebecca—"

It was at this point that someone decided to interrupt the conversation. The person, however, was someone that no one had expected.

"Alex," a voice came from behind them, sounding extremely uncomfortable and out-of-place. "Could we talk?"

Alex turned around at the unfamiliar voice. A face was looking down at her, expression as uncomfortable as the voice. Her throat constricted momentarily and she did everything she could not to frown at the boy.

"Ben," she said. "Hello."

"Wilson," Regulus said, sounding somewhat relieved and even more suspicious at the same time. "You've no business here."

Ben's eyes narrowed. "I could say the same to you, Black," he said, hostility clear in his voice. "This is family business."

"Family business?" Alex repeated, trying not to sound incredulous. Ben Wilson, her supposed cousin, had ignored her for the last four years since their first encounter at King's Cross Station. He had, never during their time at Hogwarts, approached her to ask her about how she was doing or how school was going. And, after a while, Alex stopped expecting him to. She didn't know about him or uncle Charles or her grandparents, but she understood enough to see that as far as they were concerned, she and her mother were unwelcome. She felt a surge of anger rise inside of her.

Before she could express it, however, Rebecca was already fuming from across the table.

"I was talking to you," she said petulantly to Regulus, whose attention had been focused on Ben.

Regulus did not look particularly apologetic. "Sorry, Rebecca," he said. "It's just that Wilson here—"

"I'm not talking to _you_ ," Ben said sharply. "I'm here to talk to Alex."

"I don't think so," Regulus said.

"Really, I can speak for myself—" Alex began.

"Regulus, are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Rebecca's shrill voice broke through.

"This is clearly a madhouse, I'd rather talk to you outside the hall—" Ben said exasperatedly, but the word madhouse apparently did not bode well with Regulus, whose eyes turned to slits.

"Wilson," he said quietly. "You have no business here. This is your last—"

"Regulus Arcturus Black!" Rebecca's screech silenced half of the table. Even Ben looked at her with mild distaste, noticing her for the first time. Rebecca, in turn, seemed slightly thrown off by the sudden attention that she hadn't expected to receive.

"Why won't you look at me?" she said miserably. "All I've done is to look at you."

Regulus' eyes flitted uncertainly to Alex's direction before focusing on Rebecca again. "I—" he attempted to begin before pausing. "I'm sorry," he said at last. This, unfortunately, was not satisfying to Rebecca.

"Why can't it work?" she persisted. Regulus wrinkled his brows, clearly in discomfort. Alex watched with a mix of satisfaction and pity. Regulus should suffer for—for going out with Rebecca, and making Alex feel miserable, and—but he had never—

"This is all very touching," Ben muttered, "but I have to help the first-years just in case they've forgotten their passwords, or anything like that, and I can't stay long." Alex looked back at him reluctantly, trying to furtively catch some words from Regulus. Unfortunately, his voice was low and it was difficult to pay attention to him and Ben at the same time in the loud hall.

"Ben," she said. His name felt strange and unfamiliar on her lips. "I don't really know you at all."

"That's not my fault," his words sounded snappier than her question seemed to have merited and Alex flinched back. Ben ran his fingers through his hair, apparently frustrated.

"Look," he said, breathing through his nose. "Granddad's sick."

Alex blinked. "I didn't realize that our grandfather was even alive," she said.

Ben emitted another strong exhale. "Well, he is," he said emphatically. Alex blinked again.

"He needs your help. Well, your mom's help, probably," he continued quickly.

"Your aunt, you mean."

"Your mom," Ben repeated. "Granddad needs bone marrow transplant. My dad's wasn't a match. Neither was mine." He swallowed. "He hasn't got long."

"Write to my mom," Alex said automatically. She didn't know how she was supposed to react in this kind of situation, what she was supposed to say. A grandfather? She didn't have a grandfather? But now her grandfather was sick and needed their help. A grandfather that she's never even met.

"Don't you think we did?" Ben said. His voice was shrill. "She didn't write back. Clearly, she didn't want to have anything to do with us."

"Do you even know our address?" Alex said. Ben shot her a glare.

"Tell her," he muttered lowly, "that she's letting her father die when she could've helped." Alex swallowed, but didn't say anything. Her mind was a whirlpool of ideas and notions that she never allowed herself to examine. Then he left.

"You're horrible, Regulus Black!" Rebecca's hysterical voice broke through Alex's reverie. "You—you—I curse you!" Plates and cups clattered as she abruptly stood from her seat and bumped into the table. Too upset to wince, Rebecca primly tossed her hair to one side and stomped out of the Great Hall in evident rage and distress.

"Well," Leila's dry voice managed to carry itself across the din of the dinner table. "That's more drama than I was expecting." Next to Alex Regulus sighed.

"Hardly unexpected," he muttered, moodily arranging the silverware in front of him. He turned toward Alex. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, then his eyes widened in alarm. "Merlin—are you _crying_?"

Alex wasn't aware of the fact that her eyes were wet, but she supposed that it would explain why the tip of her nose suddenly tingled unpleasantly. "No," she said, her voice shaking. She breathed in before focusing her eyes on a spot. The muscles around her eyes threatened to allow her tear ducts to open up. "Not at all. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to bed." She stood up mutedly.

Regulus, it seemed, had also lost his appetite and stood up with her. "Is it what Rebecca said about us?" he asked as he followed her out into the hallway.

Alex frowned. "Rebecca said something about us?" she asked, her voice growing higher and higher with each word. Regulus looked contrite.

"Never mind," he said quickly. "Was it something Wilson said?" Alex shrugged.

"He's a prat," Regulus said immediately. Alex smiled despite herself at his silly effort.

"You haven't even spoken to him once," she pointed out.

"I know his type," he said dismissively. "Besides, the other prat likes him."

Alex smiled wanly. "Sirius?" she said. Regulus scoffed.

"Who else?" he said. "What did he say anyway?"

Alex shrugged. "Nothing much," she said. "Just that his grandfather was sick."

Regulus frowned. "Your grandfather?" Alex nodded.

"He said that he needed some kind of bone marrow transplant," she said. "I thought it was something that came up only in Muggle medical telly series. Apparently not."

"Well, there are some illness that require potions to contain uncontaminated samples from the relatives," Regulus said thoughtfully. "Borowick's plague. Hippogriff pox. Although that's rather rare." He noticed Alex's look. "Sorry," he said. Alex shook her head and they walked in silence for a while.

"This isn't the way to the common room," Alex said.

"Er—no. I wanted to show you something." Regulus said uneasily. "So Wilson said that your grandfather needed bone marrow transplant?"

"Apparently his and his father's weren't a match."

"So he's reaching out to you now." Alex nodded. Regulus sighed.

"Family is family," he said quietly.

"I don't know them," she said, hating the way she sounded petulant.

"Do we ever?"

"They've ignored me for the past fifteen years." To this Regulus didn't say anything.

"It's stupid," Alex said. "I don't even know what happened."

"Did your mother—did she ever tell you?"

" _No_ ," Alex said. "My guess is that they didn't like my dad."

"Because he was Slytherin."

Alex frowned at Regulus. "How did you know that?" she asked. Regulus smiled humorlessly.

"They're Wilsons. Altair Wymond was the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Your mother doesn't particularly like me. It's not a very difficult deduction."

"The Wilsons, they're—" Alex hesitated. "They're purebloods. Yes?"

Regulus nodded.

"A bit like the Potters."

"Old family, a bit of money, bloodtraitors, yes." A short silence ensued.

"I've never even seen my dad."

"I know."

"For all you know, he might've been half decent."

"He was brilliant at Quidditch."

"Reg, they aren't the same thing," Alex said exasperatedly, but Regulus grinned widely at her from her side and she felt an unwilling smile spreading across her face.

"That reminds me," she said. "He sent something for Christmas." She hopped a few steps up to the Owlery, where the cool moonlight was shining clearly through the windows.

"See?" she took out her necklace from beneath her robes and Regulus took it in his hands, peering at it intently.

"Are these runes?" he asked.

"I think so," Alex answered. "I'm not sure. I spent some time in the library over the holidays, but so far I've had no luck."

"And your dad—"

"Put in a note. Sort of. It was unsigned, but it had the same handwriting—what?" Alex frowned at Regulus, who was still staring at the pendant.

"I think I've seen this before," he said slowly. Alex's eyes widened.

"What—where? How?"

"I can't remember," he said, sounding uncertain. "I'm not even sure if it's the same mark. This one's rather complicated." Alex sighed, trying not to look too deflated.

"I'll look it up," Regulus said placatingly. Alex nodded glumly.

"At least—it's a proof. You know," she swallowed. "That he knows. About me."

Regulus seemed to weigh his words carefully. "If it's from him," he said.

"If it's from him," she conceded. Regulus let go of the pendant and reached into his pocket.

"That's a bit of a shame," he said. "I had something similar in mind." Alex looked back at him in confusion.

"Merry belated Christmas," he said, holding something out in his hand, looking rather nervous. Alex felt something cool drop into her palm.

"Hold it in the moonlight," Regulus suggested. Alex did as she was told, and found a small globe dangling from a thin silver chain. Instead of deflecting the moonlight, however, its remained smooth and shadowless. The longer she held it in the air, the milkier it grew until it became completely opaque.

"Erm," she said.

"It's lapis lunae," Regulus said excitedly. "It absorbs moonlight and sort of—shines in the dark. See?" He covered the stone on her palm with both his hands and motioned at her to look at the stone in the dark. Alex did as instructed. Indeed, the stone was emitting a pale glow from the center of its core.

"I thought it was glass," Alex said weakly.

"It sort of looks like that when the moonlight runs out," Regulus said, watching her face carefully. His face fell. "You don't like it?" he said.

"What? No, no," Alex shook her head vehemently. "No, it's just—well—it's a bit too much, isn't it?" she asked weakly. Regulus frowned.

"Is it?" he asked.

"Reg, I sent you _sweets_. This—this must've cost quite a bit—"

"Not at all," he said quickly. "It's a family heirloom."

"Reg, I can't accept a _family heirloom_."

"Why not?" he asked. It is worth noting that at this point Alex was quite certain that Regulus had been standing in the cold for too long and that it had gone straight to his head.

"Because—because I'm not a Black," she said, trying to sound reasonable and gentle at the same time.

Regulus was looking back at her with a look in his eye and Alex felt her cheeks heat up despite the cold.

"I—"

"Hold on to it," Regulus said. "Just in case."

"I really can't—"

" _Just in case_." Regulus' voice was unusually firm.

"Reg, we're fifteen— _I'm_ fifteen. You're fourteen."

"Not that I needed a reminder," Regulus muttered darkly. "In two years you'll be of age. In more or less three years—we'll be out of Hogwarts."

"A lot can change in three years," Alex said weakly. And you didn't make this kind of decisions when you were fifteen and—and when they haven't even done anything besides dance on one separate occasion and—this was far too fast.

"I don't want this to change," he said. Alex looked away.

"I don't know you," she said.

"You know me better than anyone else. Rebecca wasn't wrong when she said that—that I've never looked at her. That I didn't let her in. I couldn't." Regulus was now trying to get her to look at him in the eye and Alex didn't know why she found it so difficult all of the sudden.

"I—I thought you felt the same way. About me." Alex felt heat pool to her cheeks again.

"We never even talked about it." A small silence followed.

"I'm sorry," Regulus said quietly. "I didn't mean to presume. It seems that I've been operating under a wrong impression—"

"No," Alex said in alarm. Regulus looked at her in surprise, and Alex looked away, feeling shy again.

"It's not that—that I am, you know—" she looked helplessly at Regulus, but he didn't seem to have any inclination to supply her with words. "Completely indifferent," she said. "It's just—I never knew that—that you weren't—completely indifferent—to me and—you're my friend," she said. "I don't want to lose you as my friend."

Regulus smiled faintly. "This isn't a proposal, if that makes it better," he said. "It's more of a… promise of a promise of a proposal."

Alex had to laugh despite the situation. "Right," she said.

"Completely realistically speaking, I can't really do anything until Sirius marries properly. As the second son, I mean, I can't really do anything until the first son's settled. And knowing him, he's going to drag it out until the last minute possible. So you really have years and years to decide what you want. We could repeat this several times, if you want." Regulus said all this in one breath. Alex laughed soundlessly.

"I hope not," she said. "This is awkward as it is."

Regulus laughed. "Right," he said. "Do you want me to help you put it on?" Alex gave the necklace back to him and Regulus reached over her head to the back of her neck, where he let the intertwined clasp drop on her nape.

"There," his voice sounded softer, gentler, closer. "Is this okay?"

His face was mere inches away from her face and Alex swallowed painfully. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest and Alex wondered how it was that Regulus didn't hear it and laugh at the ridiculousness of it. The moonlight cast a shadow on the plane of his face and Alex could count the numbers of his eyelashes that flittered under her gaze. Was he nervous? But it seemed impossible that he should be nervous. His head tilted to her left and she found herself tilting her head to her right. The ghost of a smile came back on his face and Regulus was smiling down at her, drawing closer and closer to her—

A ball of feathers rained down before her eyes with a loud screech and Alex drew back in surprise. She looked around, perplexed, and found the said ball of feathers attacking the bag by her side with gusto. Regulus was a few steps away from her, swearing in a low voice.

"I swear," he said, "that bird has caused me more trouble than he's worth since I was eleven."

Alex found herself smiling despite everything. Relief and disappointment ran through her blood at the same time… "I think he's just perceptive," she said, gently scooping up the tiny owl and handing him over to Regulus. "He smelled this, I think."

"Macarons?" Regulus said in disbelief, staring outraged at the creamy white box that Alex took from her bag.

"You," Regulus said, giving Edge a firm and direct glare. "Need to stop. Eating. Sweets. It's not good for your health."

"Well, he takes after his owner, obviously," Alex said ironically, holding out a piece of the confection on her palm. "There you go, Edge," she said. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Kept _him_ waiting? I've spent the entire wint—" Whatever Regulus was going to say was blocked by a macaron promptly placed in his mouth. Regulus looked back at her with a mixture of surprise and outrage.

"You 'e'raye' 'e," he said, his mouth still open.

"I told you it was rather lovely, didn't I?" Alex said, grinning, and Regulus shook his head in amusement as Edge pecked cheerfully at the crumbs on her palm.


	17. Chapter 17

"So you've been looking rather giddy," Leila said one chilly morning. "Care to explain why?"

They were sitting on one of the benches in the Quidditch pitch. It was Sunday—the third or fourth Sunday since the classes started—and, having woken up uncharacteristically early, the two had decided to grab something quick and take a walk around the school grounds. In front of them players were zooming around on their brooms despite the early hour, creating blurry green stripes in the winter air. Alex looked up from her tea, grinning sheepishly.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked. Giddy, she supposed, might be one word for it. These days she seemed to oscillate between two extreme moods of elatedness and anxiety. The thought of her mother, her grandfather, and the whole business with her cousin, who had twice reminded her about his request, made her feel uneasy and lost. But then she would see him in the library again and everything would go away…

"Have you looked in the mirror lately? You're positively glowing," Leila, despite her dry tone, was half smiling.

"Right," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "That's not happening." She looked out the field, where one particular dot had just dived to the ground. Just when she thought he was going to crash, he pulled his broom up at the last second. Not one speck of the sand on the ground was disturbed. Leila scoffed.

"Classic Black," she said. "Trust him to pull out the old moves."

Alex looked sideways at her. "Is that bad?" she asked. Leila shrugged.

"Not when it's done well. I guess not," Leila conceded. "But—I don't know. I sometimes feel like he could do a whole lot better if he just let go and _played_. The Slytherin team's all about strategy. Which isn't such a bad thing, but look at Gryffindor—I admit, a bit too much showmanship, not enough sportsmanship, but every once in a while they're brilliant. What? I'm just saying as an objective Quidditch commentator," she added defensively to Alex's odd look.

"Right," Alex muttered, turning a piece of toast in her hand. "Right." One of the Beaters aimed a particularly odd-angled blow at the Seeker and Leila booed loudly.

"Is that the best you've got?" she shouted from the stands. "Honestly, I swear—Rabastan's been after Regulus' neck since the holidays." Leila gave her a sly look. "Wonder why."

"Leila," Alex said, frowning at her toast. "Can I ask you something?"

Leila knew the tone when she heard it. "I guess," she said. "Can't promise to keep it confidential, though."

"It's about Reg."

"Then confidentiality's a must, no?" Leila took a large bit from her egg-and-bacon sandwich that she'd somehow managed to create with muffins. "Our dear old Prince won't be pleased when I blab about his relationship to everyone in the house."

"There's not much to talk about, really," Alex said defensively. "It's just that—well—you said that he likes to be a bit traditional about Quidditch, and—I don't really know much about tradition in regards to—" Alex paused, wondering if the word she had in mind was actually a correct one. "Courting," she decided.

Leila groaned. "Oh, Merlin," she said. "It's too early in the morning for this kind of conversation."

"It's nothing like that!" By now Alex's cheeks were redder than the strawberry jam that Leila had put in the egg-and-bacon sandwich. "We haven't—it's nothing like that. It's just—you're the only person who may know anything about this that I can talk to."

"Besides the Prince, you mean," Leila said. "You can just ask him, you know. That's what relationships are for." Alex shook her head bemusedly.

"I don't know," she said.

"What exactly happened? And if he started to talk like he's from the fifteenth century—don't worry. I think Slughorn's got some sort of a cure for delusions and unnecessary politeness."

"I don't know exactly what happened," Alex said. "He just—gave me a necklace as a Christmas gift which was also a family heirloom and said that it was a promise of a promise of a proposal and that I had years and years to think about it and that we would graduate in more or less three years." All this was said in one breath, of course.

"That decides it," Leila said. "Slughorn. I think Regulus desperately needs a strong vial of Disillusion Illusion."

"Leila, come on."

"I'm serious. No one's ever pulled out 'promise before marriage' move since the nineteenth century. I mean, maybe there was one or two prudish virgins who wanted that sort of a thing." Leila tapped her chin contemplatively. "Rebecca wouldn't have minded getting it from Regulus, I suppose."

Alex felt her lips pout despite herself. "You don't need to mention her, you know," she said crossly. Leila grinned.

"I mean, he's basically stating his intentions—you know. 'This is not me sowing wild oats' or 'I promise to take care of you if and when something grievous happens.' Some girls won't mind getting that from a guy. Especially if he's a Black."

"Did Rosier ever say anything like that to you?"

Leila looked at her like she was crazy. "Of course not. We're just having fun. He knows that as well as I do." Alex looked skeptically at Leila's face. Recently Leila had been looking at Rosier rather differently; Alex couldn't tell how, but it felt like something had changed over the holidays. The two used to make a joke out of what a bother Rosier was and how much Leila had to tolerate him in their relationship. But now, it almost felt like it was the opposite; Leila was still dry whenever she talked to him, but it seemed to Alex that she'd developed some possessiveness toward Rosier that Alex had not seen before. But Alex decided that it wasn't a good time to bring this up.

"Stating his intentions," Alex mulled over the words. "That _is_ rather out-of-place."

"Traditionally, if all the requirements were met, the guy—in this case, our incorrigible Mr. Black—would first approach the parents, state his interests and promise to not do anything that he can't be responsible for later. Then he would approach the girl—in this case, our blushing Miss Wilson—and state his interest and intentions clearly and promise to take care of her if anything happens. They would engage in—er—harmless flirtation for a period of time until they were both eligible for marriage. Proposal. Engagement. Marriage. Interminable boredom until the inevitable separation either through death or divorce." Leila took a big bite out of her sandwich. "It's kind of an insurance policy, I guess. The guy knows that the girl won't get taken by someone else. The girl knows that the boy won't just abandon her when something goes awry."

"When something goes awry," Alex said dubiously. Leila shrugged.

"You know. Pregnancy, most of the time. Sometimes slander to the maiden's honor. I told you, this is old stuff. No one bothers with it anymore. Not since contraception became legal and acceptable in polite society. Even my mom won't bother with this… courting business."

Alex sighed. "Right," she said. Now the Slytherin Seeker was rounding the players up in the air for some kind of instruction. Alex watched him with mixed emotion. Marriage. Wasn't this too early to think about marriage?

"Of course, back in those days people got married as soon as they came of age," Leila said casually. "That was another thing. The steps from flirtation to marriage took a lot less time than it does now." Alex nodded without conviction and Leila seemed to take pity on her.

"Don't worry too much about it," Leila said. "He's probably not expecting you to, you know, marry him or anything right after your birthdays. If anything else he's probably just being proper."

"Okay," Alex said quietly. Leila sighed.

"I mean, he's not demanding, you know, unreasonable things from you, is he?" Leila looked at her concernedly and Alex looked down at her now cold tea.

"No," Alex muttered. "I guess not." Alex wasn't sure what constituted as "unreasonable," but seeing as they hadn't even held hands, let alone—whatever it was that people did, she supposed that Regulus hadn't demanded anything unreasonable.

"Well, good," Leila said, resting against the bench. "Oi, you call that a _save_? I call it a twirl!" She shook her head in exasperation. "I swear, one of these days, I'm going to castrate every one of the male Slytherins in our school just so that I can get on the team. Oh, don't worry," Leila said drily. "I'll leave your precious Reg alone. After all, he's not a half-bad Seeker. Almost excellent, if he could spare two seconds to focus on the game instead of looking at our direction."

Alex felt herself blush again. "He's not looking at our direction," she said. Leila snorted.

"You're right. He's looking at your direction. Hey, just do me a favor—don't name your first child something ridiculous like Regulus, okay? I mean, I wouldn't mind being a godmother, but I don't want to be a godmother of a Regulus or a Sirius, y'know?"

Alex decided not to dignify this with an answer.

The way back to the castle was a little quieter. Leila decided that she would perfect her eavesdropping skills by hiding behind the Quidditch equipment closet to listen to the discussions on various strategies that the Slytherin Quidditch team planned to use this season and Alex decided to take this opportunity to make a clandestine visit to the Transfiguration professor's office.

Professor McGonagall was all business despite her evident surprise at Alex's unexpected visit.

"Miss Wilson, come in," she said after recognizing the face through the creak of her door. Alex entered without a response. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

"What can I do for you today?" McGonagall asked, indicating with her hand that Alex should sit. Alex, on the other hand, found it difficult to move from her spot. She felt rooted to McGonagall's carpet, looking uneasily around her without particularly seeing anything.

"Professor," she said, her voice strange, "can we be overheard?"

McGonagall frowned. "Not unless someone found a reason to do so," she said. "What is it, Miss Wilson?"

Alex let out a harsh breath. "It's about my mom," she said quietly. McGonagall scrutinized her face for a long while and Alex stood in her spot, trying to keep her fingers from fidgeting so nervously.

"Have a seat. Have a biscuit," she said, indicating at a chair in front of her again and a tin box. Alex took the seat quietly.

"I need to contact her," Alex said, trying not to sound desperate. "I wrote her a letter a few weeks ago, but she hasn't responded back to me. Normally I wouldn't think too much about it, but the content of the letter was important and—" Alex paused. "She would have written back if she'd seen it. I know it. She told me to come to you if there was something urgent that I needed to tell her."

McGonagall sighed. "Your mother—I'm afraid that simply sending her an owl would not be an option, Miss Wilson. Revealing her location could not only put her in danger, but others involved in the… affair, as well."

Alex blinked rapidly. "I know that," she muttered.

"May I ask what you need to tell her?" McGongall's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "I may try to convey some kind of message to her if it is truly urgent." Alex hesitated, unsure how to exactly say it.

"Her father's dying," she said, without much conviction. "Her dad—my grandfather—he's dying. Ben told me. And apparently he needs something from her—bone marrow transplant. Theirs wasn't a match." By now the skin around her nails were a henpecked mess. "I don't know what to do," she said quietly.

McGonagall was listening silently. "Your grandfather's at St. Mungo's, I presume?" she asked without any preamble.

"I don't know," Alex said. "Ben didn't tell me much except to tell my mom."

"Normally I would agree with you and say that Sophia needs to be informed of this," McGonagall said. "But I'm afraid that this is a rather… exceptional time. She cannot be disturbed during this mission. The entire western Europe—" McGonagall suddenly stopped.

"You've said too much," Alex said. It wasn't a question and McGonagall merely sighed.

"Do not think that I do not understand your situation, Alex," she said gently. "I know Augustus and Clara personally. And I also knew your mother when she was still a student at Hogwarts."

"Well," Alex said drily. "Now I know what my grandparents' names are."

McGonagall reached for the tin can and took a biscuit from the container. She held it out to Alex, who didn't feel rebellious enough to refuse it. She let it rest on her palm.

"I can't contact your mother," McGonagall said, "but I can give you advice and make certain arrangements for you." Alex looked at her skeptically.

"Your mother has not seen her parents in almost seventeen years," McGonagall said. Alex didn't say anything.

"Half of her life, she hasn't seen them," McGonagall continued. "But Sophia Wilson isn't heartless. And she would want her daughter to know her grandparents. See how much you make her proud." Alex looked away, trying to hid the stinging in her eyes.

"You think I should visit them," Alex said, trying to bring her shaking voice under control.

"I think you want to," McGonagall said gently.

"I don't know what I want," Alex muttered, trying to dab at the corners of her eyes discreetly. McGonagall seemed suddenly preoccupied with the roll of parchments on the side of her desk.

"But I guess I have no other choice," Alex said matter-of-factly after a while. "If my mom can't make it, that means that the only person who may be a match is me." And, as she was learning, she wasn't quite spiteful enough to let a man die when she could have done something.

"I don't know about the procedures for leaving school grounds," Alex said. "Do you need the parent's permission? I can't really do anything about that right now."

"All you need to do is fill out the form," McGonagall said. "Stating your destination, cause of absence, and permission from professors, if you are missing any of your classes. If it is acceptable with Mr. Wilson, however, I would advise not leaving until next weekend. The term has only just started, and it would be inadvisable to miss any of your classes."

"Right," Alex said, thinking that only McGonagall would think about classes at times like this.

"You may take the floo in my office," McGonagall said, "and make sure to notify the people at the other end that you'll be coming." She handed Alex a small slip of parchment that had the necessary information. Alex squinted at it.

"It's already signed," she said.

"Well, your parent cannot sign it at the moment, can she?" McGonagall said stiffly. "I authorize the visit. Off you go—and make sure to return it three days in advance."

* * *

Finding Ben was not a difficult task; after all, they did go to the same school and ate meals in the same place. What Alex did find difficult was approaching him and she wondered, for the hundredth time, if Ben had approached her with the same amount of anxiety and trepidation that she was currently feeling on Wednesday evening. McGonagall had given her a three-day notice deadline and she was already late. If she didn't do it this week, however, it meant that she would have to wait another week. Alex didn't think that her nerves could hold out that long.

The dining hall was crowded as usual, and there were signs of the approaching Valentine day in the table decorations and silverware; there were even heart-shaped cookies as dessert already offered on one side of the tables. Alex tried to inconspicuously look around the hall from the entrance door. Lingering would make people notice her and regard her with suspicion. A Slytherin lurking by the doorway was never a welcoming sight. Thankfully, Ben was rather noticeable with his lanky form and messy hair and Alex took a deep breath before walking toward the Ravenclaw table.

She stood behind Ben's bench, unsure exactly what the best form of greeting would be. She didn't suppose that Ben would appreciate Leila-esque grunt or Regulus' slight nod. Everyone was staring oddly at her and even his friends behind him had gone quiet. Slowly, Ben turned around to see what the fuss was about, frowning.

The frown didn't vanish when he saw who it was.

"Yes?" His voice was brusque.

"My mom can't make it, she's too busy with work," the words rushed out of her mouth before she could properly think over what she was saying. Thankfully, the excuse that she'd crafted carefully inside her head tumbled out instead of something that she would regret saying. "I tried writing to her a couple of times, but she didn't answer, which means that she's a bit busy. So you shouldn't take it as an offense that she didn't write back."

Ben's frown, if possible, deepened further. "How's that supposed to help us?" Alex tried not to show how much his reaction hurt her.

"I'll go," she said quietly. "I looked it up—if mine's not a match, it means that my mom's is probably not a match, either. And if it is, then mom doesn't have to be there at all—you can just use mine." Ben was looking at her with an odd expression on his face and Alex decided to forge on without paying attention to it.

"I talked to McGonagall, and she said that I had to alert whoever I'm meeting with because I'll be traveling by floo. You didn't tell me where I'm supposed to go."

"St. Mungo's," Ben said automatically. "Second floor. Diseases ward. There's a witch by the reception area. I'll write them to let them know."

"It's fine. I can do it."

"No," Ben said. "That floor's a bit—peculiar about visitors. Contagious diseases and all. I'll write them so that they'll know and I'll go with you to the hospital."

Alex looked at him oddly. "I can manage to travel by floo, thanks."

"Well—this is sort of important. And I want to visit Granddad anyway. When are you leaving?"

"Saturday morning, I guess," Alex said. "After brunch."

"Confirm with McGonagall," Ben said, "and I'll meet you in front of the Great Hall by eleven. Sounds good?" Alex wasn't sure why Ben was suddenly taking over the entire event and arranging things as if it had been his idea from the beginning, but Alex shrugged and left to the Slytherin table without a further word. It didn't escape her notice that Ben did not show any appreciation for the entire endeavor once.

Regulus took one look at her face and pushed a platter of rolls at her direction.

"Thanks, but I'm not that hungry," Alex said, pushing it back to its original place. Regulus shrugged.

"I told you, he's a prat. Don't mind what he says." Alex nodded.

"So you're leaving this weekend?" he asked. Alex rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"I think so," Alex answered. She began to unenthusiastically grab some things from nearby, and, not taking her eyes off her plate, asked almost casually, "Reg, can you—can you cover for me for today's meeting?"

Alex couldn't see Regulus' face, but she could surmise that it would contain nothing of approval. "It doesn't really make a good impression to suddenly stop attending," he said neutrally.

"Well, I wasn't even aware of what they were about when I was dragged there," Alex said, trying to sound also neutral.

"I admit, I do think Rabastan made a hasty decision," Regulus said, sighing, "but since you are already in, it can only hurt you not to go."

"They're watching me," Alex quoted Leila's words. Regulus didn't answer.

"You know that I have little interest in the cause," Alex said casually. Regulus was silent for a while.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I suppose that I do know that." They ate in silence.

"I'll tell them that you wish to focus on your studies at the moment," Regulus said after a while. "And hint that it may be better for us to have people with more academic goals for the future."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Reg—"

"It's not a permanent solution," Regulus muttered, casually glancing over their shoulders and around them. "I know that. But it buys you some time to plan something out. The meeting's in two hours, Alex." There was reproach in his voice.

"I didn't know how to bring it up," Alex said, looking down at her fork. Next to her, Regulus sighed.

"Sorry," she muttered. "And thank you."

"Don't mention it," Regulus muttered quietly.

* * *

The Disease Ward of St Mungo's Hospital was oddly cheerful. The walls were neatly and freshly renovated with buttercup wallpaper where butterflies took their daily flight from flower to flower. The benches in the waiting room with their colorful pillows and plush cushions looked almost inviting. But before Alex could make a remark about any of this, Ben managed to dust his cloak promptly before going to the receptionist desk.

The witch behind the counter did not look surprised to see him.

"Hullo, Ben," she said. "If you could wait just a moment. Nurse Kelly will be with you."

"Alright," Ben said. He found a place to sit in the waiting room. He looked almost at home. Alex shifted her weight nervously, trying to hide her anxiety. She'd slept less than three hours the night before, and barely managed to keep her breakfast from coming back up. Her stomach hurt.

"Ben!" A bright voice came from the doorway and Alex turned around painfully. A pretty witch was smiling brightly at Ben, flashing her teeth. They seemed far too white to be natural, and Alex observed the red lipstick on her lips with some curiosity. Didn't nurses have a policy about excessive makeup?

From Ben's face, however, Alex supposed that he didn't mind one bit.

"Hi, Janie," he said, standing up. His hand went automatically to his hair and Alex felt her eyebrows raise automatically. Boys. "How have you been?"

"Good," Janie said, again flashing him that dazzling smile. Alex noted with some amusement that Janie was endowed in all departments, not just in her smile. "Your grandparents have missed you, though."

"Oh," Ben laughed awkwardly. "I'm sure you've kept them company."

"I did," Janie replied, "but you weren't here."

Alex knew that she was inexperienced and completely awkward when it came to social interactions between boys and girls, but even she could tell where this was going.

"Hi," she said obtrusively, sticking her hand out. "Alex Wilson. Could you tell me exactly what I need to do?"

Janie's eyes widened. "Oh, you're—" evidently she was struggling to find a right word to describe who Alex was in front of Alex. Alex slowly let out a long breath. She knew that this was going to happen, but—Nurse Kelly wasn't even family. Or blood relative.

Ben brusquely intervened. "Yeah. This is her. I don't think Grandpa needs to see her, do you?"

Janie's eyes grew even wider, if that was even possible. "I—well, I suppose not, but—"

Ben's eyes narrowed. "But what?"

Janie now looked uncomfortable. "Well, your grandmother has been saying—"

"Grandma is scared and unstable and in no condition to make these judgements," Ben said forcefully, and Alex was reminded just for a moment Charles Wilson's expression when she met him for the first and only time before her first train ride to Hogwarts: _You are not part of the family anymore. You made a choice thirteen years ago. You don't have a nephew. I do not have a niece._

Alex swallowed down a lump of hurt pride and loneliness and held her head high.

"Excuse me, but I have a Charms essay that is due on Monday," she lied tartly. She'd finished all her homework beforehand just in case things took longer than anticipated. Not that Ben would have ever cared about it even if he knew. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get on with things."

Ben looked like he had several things he wanted to growl at her direction but Janie seemed rather relieved at having been relieved of the responsibility to make a decision.

"Follow me," Janie said, and Alex walked stiffly behind her. Ben followed a few paces behind, looking sulky.

"It won't be a terribly long procedure," Janie said assuringly. "I'm afraid that you'll have to disrobe, but it won't be for more than ten minutes, tops. And the results actually come in in less than two hours—amazing, isn't it? If it comes out as a match, then we'll need a bigger sample, but that shouldn't take long at all. You'll go back to Hogwarts before dinner."

"Alright," Alex said tonelessly.

"It won't hurt, if that's what you're worried about," Janie said. Alex didn't say anything.

Ben huffed obtrusively from behind them. "What about me?" he asked.

"You can go to their room," Janie said gently. "They're waiting for you."

Without any reply Ben left for the way they came. Janie took several turns as the corridors became narrower and Alex supposed that they were now in the non-residential part of the hospital.

"He's not usually like this," Janie said after a while. "He's just a bit worried, that's all." Alex debated for several seconds whether she should say anything.

"Ben's actually really sweet, if you get to know him," Janie kept on going. "When he first came here—"

"When he first came here, he didn't dismiss his grandmother and actually had enough manners to say thanks," Alex said dully. "I'm sure he did."

The look in Janie's eyes was pity. Alex looked the other way.

"Here we go," Janie said cheerfully when they entered a small room. There was a small bed in the corner, and a couple of quills floating about that seemed to be constantly scribbling something, and a set of gowns.

"You can leave your bag there—get changed into these gowns. I'll be right back." Janie left and Alex took the hospital gown between her fingers. It felt cool and clean. Her fingers were shaking. Alex wasn't sure why.

"There we go," Janie entered, pushing a cart with several silver equipments that Alex was sure would hurt against her skin, at least a little. Alex nodded to no one in particular.

"What's going to happen," Janie said cheerfully, "is that you're going to need to lie down on your back—yes, just like that—and there's a bit of a slit along the spine—and I'm going to partially anesthetize the area around your back and pelvic bone—it's a bit like a stunning spell," Janie assured her when Alex looked back at her in alarm. "It's just so that it doesn't hurt. You'll stay on this bed until it wears off—you'll get a potion to help you."

Alex began to wonder if all medical procedures were this casual.

The extraction, just like Janie predicted, didn't hurt much. Alex asked Janie to bring her bag to the bedside table so that Alex could do something while she waited for the spell to wear off. Pushing her torso off the bed using her arms, Alex leaned against the wall while Janie cleaned up the equipments and left the room. There wasn't even silence; the walls were thin and Alex could hear the noise coming from outside the room. Wheels scratching the floor. People talking about things that she couldn't understand.

She looked down at the Defense against the Dark Arts textbook in her hand. She didn't feel much like reading. Or doing homework. She wondered what her mother would say. Alex didn't know, it had been so long since she'd properly talked with her mom…

The noise from the outside grew louder and louder. Alex wondered if she should go out to see what was going on. There was a stern voice that reminded her of McGongall. Then a boy's voice, sounding both annoyed and a bit contrite. Again the stern voice. The voices grew closer and closer.

"Benjamin, do stop fretting. A young man oughtn't fret so much."

"Grandma—"

"I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, so why do you insist on holding my arm every second to stop me?" The conversation was now so clear that Alex could even hear the scratch in her voice. "I told you to look after your grandfather."

Ben muttered something petulantly.

The door opened and Alex stared owlishly at the people in the doorway. The light inside the room had been darker than she thought.

Sophia Wilson's mother was as smaller than Alex expected. Sophia Wilson had always been on the taller side, and her mother had always seemed strong to her. Her grandmother was thinner. And smaller. But Alex imagined that she could see something of her mother in the round jawline of the woman that stood before her. Something of warmth in the wrinkles around her eyes. Then Alex remembered that warmth and kindness were rare and far between.

No one said anything much for a while.

"Hello," Alex said quietly. "You must be Clara Wilson."

"And you," her grandmother said, "must be Alex."

"You're not supposed to be here," Ben said.

"Hush, Benjamin," Clara Wilson said. Alex grinned despite herself at Ben, who, despite the disgruntled expression on his face, remained silent.

"You were very brave to come here today, Alex," her grandmother said seriously.

What happened next, Alex wasn't sure.

It started with a sniffle. The sniffle came from her nose. Before long it felt like tears were coming out of both her eyes and nose. Her cheeks felt hot. Clara had put her arm around her shoulders and was patting her head lightly as if Alex were a small lost puppy shivering in cold. A sharp click of the door lock told Alex that Ben had left, but she didn't care about Ben—not when her grandmother was gently rocking her back and forth and murmuring in her ear like a lullaby that everything was fine and all was going to be well. She smelled like apples and fresh clover and dabbed at Alex's face every once in a while with lace handkerchief that she'd produced out of nowhere and Alex couldn't understand how she lived for fifteen years without once getting to know her.

"I'm sorry, dear," Clara Wilson said. "I wanted to come and see you, but it wasn't just my choice."

"Mom's dad didn't like it," Alex asked.

"That," her grandmother sighed. "And your mother couldn't forgive him, either. They're so alike, from their looks to everything else." She peered at Alex's face. "You don't look much like your mother," she observed. Alex frowned between her brows and Clara Wilson laughed.

"Have you met my dad?" she asked, still sniffling.

"I did, once," Clara said. "Your mother brought him to family dinner."

"It didn't go well," Alex asked again without much doubt. Clara sighed.

"I thought he was a fine young man. He was rather reticent, but really, is that such a bad thing these days? Of course, Augustus disliked him immediately."

"Because he was a Slytherin."

"That, and—oh, I see your mother hasn't told you much," Clara looked down sadly at her and Alex felt her lips pout despite herself.

"I can't help it," she muttered. Clara rubbed her shoulders comfortingly.

"Sometimes it's better not to know," her grandmother said gently. "You'll find out the answers in your own time. That is often more than enough for us." Alex looked down at her hands but didn't say anything. She couldn't agree—she'd spent years not knowing. How bad could things be—

"But that's enough about the past," her grandmother said cheerily. "Let's talk about you. How's school? Is there someone special in your life?"

Something in her face must've given way, because her grandmother was looking down at Alex with crinkled eyes. Alex felt a smile creep up her face despite herself.

"Maybe. I don't know. It's in an odd stage right now," she said.

"What's his name?" Clara asked indulgently.

"Reg—Regulus. Regulus Black." Alex did not miss the way her grandmother's eyebrows traveled up her forehead skeptically.

"Regulus Black," she repeated slowly, as though repeating the name would somehow change the air the nam "Black" brought with itself. "Well. What's Regulus like?"

"He's—" Alex paused and wondered exactly what words would successfully defend Regulus against his name. Nice? Was Regulus nice? She supposed he could be nice, but it wasn't his usual style. Funny—Regulus Black didn't do funny. Funny was reserved for Sirius. Regulus did dead-serious irony.

"Reg is… Reg." Alex smiled hesitantly at her grandmother. "He's one of a kind."

"Well," Clara Wilson said. "If that young man is treating you properly."

Alex smiled wryly. "He's definitely that," she said. "Proper. He likes things to go properly and put everything in order. I mean, you'd think that a boy would be a bit messy, but—not Reg. And he looks after his family even though he's the youngest person in that house. He likes reading and Quidditch. Not much else. Except for owls. And chocolate. He has this tiny owl that he rescued when he was eleven, and—" Alex looked away, suddenly aware of the fact that she said too much. But Clara Wilson was looking at her with the crinkle in her eyes again and Alex felt like she could tell her everything, everything and more.

"He sees me for what I am and he'll have me," she said quietly. "Isn't it so odd?"

Clara Wilson was about to say something when there was a knock on the door. Janie opened the door without waiting for an answer.

"The results are in," she said.


	18. Chapter 18

"I can't believe this actually works," Alex mused.

"I can't believe that you actually chucked this away for _five_ _months_ ," Regulus muttered, disgruntled.

"And I can actually see your face scowling!" Alex exclaimed.

It was a month into the summer break and Alex was sitting in her own room again in the attic, looking into a small mirror in her palm. The morning sun was already well on its way to its zenith, but a quick glance at the clock on her wall said that she still had thirty minutes or so. During breakfast she'd suddenly remembered that she might have forgotten to include an important quotation in her Charms essay and, unable to remember exactly which book the passage came from, proceeded to rummage through her rather messy trunk and found a small, albeit familiar, voice coming from one corner.

"I gave it to you on Valentine's Day!" Regulus said in an outraged voice, but the face in the mirror was smiling.

"You bought it at Zonko's! I thought it was some sort of a joke!" Honestly, exactly how a girl was supposed to react when a boy gave her a mirror, of all things, Alex didn't know. Did Regulus have a problem with her appearance? Weren't gifts usually bought at Honeyduke's? "Besides, I live with two roommates, and both of them are very suspicious about new items."

"Right," Regulus said drily.

"You could have told me that it was a two-way mirror," Alex said. "Then I wouldn't have had to make Edge travel all the way from here to London to deliver a measly letter."

"Well," Regulus said, his voice softening. "I wouldn't call your letters measly."

"Hmph," Alex said. "So this is a two-way mirror. It's rather novel, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Regulus said off-handedly. "Muggles have something called telephones, right?"

"Muggle Studies homework?"

"Yup," Regulus said. "We're getting to some really exciting materials this year. Fifth year will be fantastic." Regulus' eyes were gleaming in a way that only happened during Quidditch games and Professor Binns' History of Magic lectures. Alex rolled her eyes.

"You need to get a life," she said.

"Right," now Regulus was rolling his eyes. A sight that not many got to see. "Life in Grimauld Place. It'd be easier to catch a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest."

"Sirius is gone—"

"Sirius has gone off to Potters again, Father's "away" on business, and Mother decided to host a tea party. Again. Alex, there is only so much tea I can tolerate in one summer."

"You like tea."

"Not in a garden surrounded by in-laws plotting my future decades," Regulus grumbled, then his face shifted. "You could come," he said.

Alex wasn't sure exactly how she could subtly refuse this invitation. "Your mom hates me," she said.

"You two never got the chance," Regulus said, sounding almost encouraging.

"Reg, your mom likes me as much as my mom likes you."

"You know, I'm the second son—I'm basically a throwaway. She wouldn't mind whom I invite to a tea party," Regulus said brightly, but Alex did not fail to notice that Regulus didn't deny any of the things she said.

"I have to work," Alex said, trying to sound reasonable to someone who had never worked an hour in his life.

Regulus, to his credit, was attempting to look sympathetic. "Didn't you say that there was someone who was sort of funny? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to—take some time off. He might go away."

"I don't know," Alex said. "He doesn't exactly do anything, much." There was a customer who had begun to frequent the restaurant she was working in a few weeks back. Most of the times he came in when her shift was almost over—Krater, the manager, usually let her go before six—and sat by the bar, looking at everything but nowhere in particular. Perhaps it had only been her imagination, but it sometimes felt as though he was waiting—anticipating her to do something. Alex wasn't sure. She didn't tell her mother, of course—having to spent half of the summer away on missions was already making Sophia Wilson twice worried as usual—and now Regulus was bringing it up again.

"Reg," Alex said, "I can't just go to London. Where would I stay?"

"At my house," Regulus said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Your mother—"

"I'll talk to Mother," Regulus said, giving his characteristic grin. "She won't say no."

"I don't know," Alex said.

"Just think about it," Regulus said.

"Right," Alex said, unconvinced. Apparently Regulus sensed this.

"So how is everything?" he asked.

"All's quiet, as usual," Alex said, smiling lightly. "Mom's away again, but she said that she'd be back before the week was over. Grandmother writes that everything's going alright over there. Her husband's fully recovered."

"She's still writing to you, then?"

"It is still a bit odd," Alex said. "And we don't write often."

Alex couldn't remember when their conversations grew casual. Their conversations had always been on the careful side, and Alex had always watched what she said to Regulus, just in case that she sounded a bit too—Muggle. Or weak, or ignorant, or overly foolish, because she knew that he had little patience for people who failed to see the matter at hand as it was. But somehow it felt almost possible to talk with him like a pair of normal teenagers for once, and Alex couldn't tell why that was. Perhaps something had changed.

"Alright, I've got to go," Alex said, regretfully looking at the clock on the wall. "My shift starts in fifteen minutes, and it's a bit of a walk."

"Fine," Regulus said, looking resignedly indulgent. "Have fun, I guess."

Alex rolled her eyes. Trust Regulus to wish her fun at work. "Right," she said.

"Don't forget the tea party!"

Corner Tavern was an ancient tavern just a little off the main road, where most of the town's residents liked to stop by after work for a drink and a bit of gossip. Alex had initially planned on getting in touch with Mr. Munson, a local convenience store owner who had "allowed" her to work part-time at his store last summer, but he had mysteriously disappeared from the town with a dingy sign on the door that said, 'family emergency.' Alex had briefly entertained the idea of not working this summer—but her mother was away on Order business again, again indefinitely, and even though her day job as an editor of _Transfiguration Today_ meant that they had some income, it was barely enough to support the large amount of time that her mother had to spent abroad and pay for utilities in their house. So back to work it was.

The late summer mornings in her town were unusually pleasant, and Alex thought back to the summer when McGonagall had first visited her has a cat. It had been raining then, and it seemed so odd that it should not rain now—but it wasn't—

Krater, as usual, was all business when she walked in.

"Right on time," he said briskly. He was—Alex could actually not tell what his actual age was. As far as she knew, his uncle used to own the place, but got rather sick—the old Mr. Krater, Alex remembered, didn't have any children—and he came from some city in the north—perhaps Newcastle—to oversee it for a while. Alex thanked her lucky stars that Krater was unfamiliar enough with the local politics—and town gossip—when he first arrived to hire her. Her family's reputation had not, it seemed, grown any better during her absence, although most people tended to ignore her on daily basis. Alex nodded at him and went to the back to put away her jacket before coming out to prepare the place.

"A fine example you're setting, Higgins," Krater said about fifteen minutes later to a young man who had walked in. "Wilson will learn not to be early, no?" Higgins mumbled some apology under his breath before shooting Alex a glare. She pretended not to see it.

The work was busier as usual. The good weather encouraged more people to come, and Krater made her set more chairs and tables up outside the tavern so that people could drink outside. Amidst the bustle and the crowd, Alex didn't have a chance to catch a proper break until late in the afternoon, just when people had finished their lunch but weren't ready for dinner.

"Wilson," Krater said, "dish duty with Higgins."

Alex shrugged. "Alright," she said, going inside the kitchen, where Higgins was already at work. It seemed that he had several overdue piles of plates.

"Hand over the sponge, would you?" Alex said, trying to find a comfortable position in the small kitchen. Higgins glared at her.

"Think you're better than me, Watson?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Alex said dully, far too familiar with Higgins' antics. Higgins had been in the primary with her—along with Ramsay and the gang—and although he never quite made the cut into the popular circle, he seemed to believe that being nasty would guarantee an upward movement in the local teenage social circle.

"Don't think I don't know all about your _situation_ ," Higgins spat out. "Your mum's pulling her back sending you to that boarding school, and now you have nothing to eat. God knows what your mum's been up to—"

"Higgins," Alex said, "is your life so mindlessly boring that you have to take an interest in me?"

"Don't be stupid," Higgins said, "I'm just minding my own business. You're getting into my business." Alex swallowed an exasperated sigh and kept scrubbing. All logic would be lost on him.

Unfortunately, Higgins had a knack for detecting moments when someone was disparaging him, however mentally. "You know what, Watson?" he said, throwing down his dish towel. "You can just shove your smart-ass a—"

"Oi!" Krater had somehow appeared from the front of the store. "Is there a problem here?" His face was mild as he surveyed the kitchen, but his gaze was hawk-like.

"No," Alex and Higgins muttered at the same time. Krater gave them a last glance before going back to his stool. Alex kept her eyes down and kept scrubbing.

After five people began to trickle in, one by one, and they were again called back to take orders. Alex tried to relax and concentrate on the orders at hand. The strange man—he may not come today. He sometimes didn't. But when the clock on the wall ticked to five thirty the door of the tavern opened, and Alex did not need to look in the direction to know who it was.

The man was wearing a loose jacket, as usual, with its hood drawn low beneath his eyebrows. One could barely see his eyes. His shoulders hunched at a grotesque angle, but his back was straight and tall—clearly he did not normally walk that way. He unsuccessfully shuffled to the usual corner of the tavern where he signaled that he would like to order something. Next to her Krater let out an annoyed breath.

"That one again," he muttered.

"I can go," Alex said, trying to sound cheerful and failing. The memory of Regulus' mentioning of the man only worsened the anxiety that she already felt.

"No," Krater said, frowning. "Higgins is on it." Without a comment, Higgins got up from behind the counter and picked up a menu. He brushed past Alex, not failing walk into the right side of her body with his shoulder. Alex suppressed a wince.

"I can do it, you know," Alex said defensively. Krater didn't even shrug.

"I know," he said. "But if I were you I'd steer clear from that one. He looks at you when he thinks you're not looking." So Alex's suspicion had not been wrong. He was looking at her.

"About Higgins—"

"Please," Krater scoffed. "Of all people, Higgins does not deserve your defense."

"Wasn't going to defend him," Alex muttered, thinking that it was probably a bad idea to ask Krater to be nicer to him. The people at table six made a motion and Alex signaled that she was coming.

"Good night," Alex muttered about thirty minutes later when she exited from the closet, putting on her jacket. Krater waved carelessly from his stool; Higgins glared at her direction again.

The way back home was again oddly pleasant. The sun was beginning to set, but the sky was still bright enough for her to see everything clearly—the number of people across the street, Mrs. Sunfield's chairs, the windows open to let in the fresh air, everything. She closed her eyes and breathed in everything.

She paused in her step.

But the pause was so momentary that no observer could guess that Alex had stopped in her tracks to listen to something. She walked as usual, brisk pace, arms swinging casually at her sides. She came to a crossroad and took a sharp right turn, risking a small glance to the way that she had come.

There was no one.

Her hands automatically went into her jacket pocket, where she had sewn a small sheath inside the lining of the fabric for her wand. Feeling the familiar weight between her fingers gave her a bit of assurance, but it seemed unlikely that that man—the hooded man from the restaurant—would be unarmed.

Most wizards these days tended to be armed, after all.

She took another turn, this time into the alleyway, where the older part of the town was situated. The picture was considerably darker due to the narrowness of the space between buildings and the consequent lack of sunlight. Alex did a quick calculation and made another left turn, followed immediately by another turn. The footsteps that she had heard were leisurely, unhurried, but that man had been tall despite his slouch. He could easily outwalk her in speed and pace. So she would need to catch him unaware.

She made the decisive left turn and ran to the alleyway at the end of the small gap, her wand in hand.

The way was empty.

"Looking for me?" came a voice from behind her. Alex gasped and dropped her wand, turning around.

The man, on the other hand, did not seem alarmed—or even particularly worried. He bent down slowly and picked up her wand, taking even more time to stand up. He rolled the wand between his fingers, considering. "Ebony," was all he said, cocking his head to one side. His hood seemed to have come off some time during Alex's failed attempt to corner him, and Alex realized that she had until now never seen the man's eyes directly, despite the several dozen times she had seen him at the tavern. But she could see him now, despite the shadows in the alleyway, could make out the contours of his face, his nose, his deep-set eyes…

"Interesting," the man continued. "Do you know where this wood comes from?"

Alex couldn't mask a start despite herself. "Did you talk to Ollivander?" Alex asked back, remembering the wandmaker's words almost four years ago. But the question was superfluous. Every question was probably superfluous. The moment that she had gotten a clear look at that man's face, Alex knew. She had seen it countless times before, on a photograph that she had never showed anyone, not even Reg…

"Don't need to," the man said, still regarding the wand thoughtfully. "It is a famous tree, after all."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," her voice was shaking. Alex wasn't sure why it was shaking. And the wand—she had to get it back, didn't she? She was there, defenseless, in the alleyway, while the sun was setting. She needed to—get the wand back—and go home—

"It's a bit of a long story," the man said, smiling rather grimly. "Perhaps another time." He held out her wand, the handle towards her. Alex took it mutedly.

"Aren't you going to ask me who I am?" the man asked, the grim smile still on his face.

"No," Alex said, "not really."

"Already know?"

"I don't _know_ anything," Alex said testily. "I'm guessing."

"Maybe you're wrong."

"No," Alex said. "I'm not. Not this time."

The man let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry," he said eventually, looking away.

"What for?" Alex let out a sound that was too hysterical to be called a laugh. "This is the part that I don't know, you see."

The man, if possible, looked even sorrier. "She didn't tell you," he said.

"Nothing."

"Then how did you—"

"Does it matter?" Alex said.

"Well," the man said carefully, "I want to know more about you. Of course I do." Her response was too weak to be called a snort.

"I know—it's just—it's a bit hard to explain," he said. "Actually, I'm not supposed to even mention half of them."

"Oh," Alex said. "Well, that certainly makes things easier, doesn't it?"

The man didn't say anything in response. He simply smiled sadly at her, and somehow—for some reason—this made her unbearably sad.

"What do people even—what do they even do in this kind of—" Alex looked away, stomping her foot on the pavement.

"Well," Altair Wymond said, almost casually, "it's almost dinnertime. I didn't have much at the place you work, I'm afraid." He straightened his jacket and looked almost indifferently at her. "Are you hungry?"

* * *

Alex once believed that she had had her share of awkward meals. To name a few, one may recall the morning after McGonagall's visit to her house before the start of the first year, when Alex had stealthily stolen into the kitchen in the morning (unsure what mood her mother would be in) and found the table already set and lain with food. This did not make the meal one iota less awkward, and it was not until Christmas dinner the same year, when Alex had come back from school, that she no longer felt apologetic about wanting to go to Hogwarts against her mother's wishes.

Or one could also recall the morning after Regulus had given her a necklace as a Christmas present. Rebecca was unaware of what had transpired, of course, but she was vigilantly keeping Regulus under her surveillance; meanwhile, Alex was too embarrassed and confused to say anything intelligible that entire day. Leila had some inkling of what might have caused Alex to bumble more than usual (Alex had never been very smooth in her eyes) and did not aid in her attempt to mask it—quite the contrary. Regulus, unfortunately, was still too discomforted by the wound on his torso to take any decisive action, especially in the public sphere. The silence lasted as long as the meal itself, until Leila decided that she had had enough and began a loud conversation across the table with Rabastan Lestrange on why his Beater skill was never impressive.

If there was ever criteria on which meals were to be judged on their awkwardness, Alex knew that she had some. This dinner, however, made the cut.

They had apparated to some part in London—Alex guessed that it was London—and Altair Wymond seemed to know the way rather well. Alex had followed mutely, her hand glued to her wand, and he simply walked in front of her, never quite looking around, and never looking back at her. At last they arrived at a place that Alex expected the least, but she was too nervous to say anything.

"Toppings?" were his first words to her.

"Er," Alex paused, regarding small bowls containing diced vegetables as if they would leap from their resting place to attack her. "Mushrooms?"

"Mushrooms," Altair mused. "And spinach, maybe." He turned towards her. "Do you like spinach?"

Alex shrugged helplessly, trying to convey with erratic wiggling of her eyebrow that she had no particular opinion about spinach or leafy vegetables of most kind. She didn't think that she was very successful.

They sat down by the far corner of the pizzeria. Alex fiddled with the plastic peeling off the cushion of her seat.

"So," Altair Wymond said, almost casually, "how is everything going?"

Alex tried to hide the twitch in her eye. "Everything?" she repeated.

"School," Altair decided. "How's Hogwarts?"

Alex cleared her throat. She wasn't sure how she could have been marveling at a two-way mirror with Regulus less than ten hours ago. "Fine," she said. "The final exam results came back. They were fine."

"Okay," he said. A silence followed.

"What house are you in?" he asked eventually.

"Did mum really tell you nothing?"

Now it looked like Altair was trying to hide a twitch in his eye. Alex wasn't sure if she pitied him or simply wanted to accuse him of something. "We haven't been in touch in a while," he said.

"Why not?"

"I really can't say."

"Why not?"

"For reasons that I can't say," Altair sighed. "If things had been different, I would tell you, but if things had been different—" a wry smile appeared on his face. "Well, then I suppose we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to tell you things when I don't even know why I haven't met you in fifteen years," the words came out in a rush.

Altair Wymond again looked inexplicably sad at these words and it made Alex feel somehow sad again. Alex wished that she didn't have to feel those feelings. "Okay," he said. Alex looked away.

"Slytherin," Alex muttered grudgingly.

"Sorry?"

"I said Slytherin," she said more loudly. "My house. It's Slytherin. I heard you were in it, too."

Altair's expression was again unreadable. "It seems to be a family tradition," he said, attempting weakly at a smile.

"That's what the Sorting Hat said, anyway," Alex said. Altair's eyebrows rose.

"Did that _thing_ talk to you as well?" he asked excitedly. "Soph would never believe it whenever I told her."

"Why wouldn't she believe it?" Alex said.

"I don't know," Altair said, and for a second he seemed like a normal thirty-five year old man. "Apparently it never talked to her during the Sorting. I was nervous, you see, and for while I thought I was imagining the voice until it told me that I wasn't imagining a voice in my head."

Alex shook her head. "I never told her," she said. "It talked about you." _And mom doesn't like to talk about you_ , she added silently.

"Really?" Altair said. "What did it say?"

Alex hesitated. "That it would give me the same chance that it gave you," she said.

"Well," Altair said, his wry tone returning, "I'll tell you right now never to take that chance."

"What do you mea—"

"Here's your pizza," the waiter said unceremoniously before letting the large pan settle obtrusively on the table. Alex looked at the gooey cheese uncertainly.

A sudden realization seem to dawn upon Altair. "You don't like pizza," he said.

"I like pizza," Alex said quickly.

"Is it the cheese? I—"

"I can eat cheese, it's fine." She looked uncertainly at Altair. "Aren't you going to have some?" she asked.

"I suppose I should," he said, but his face looked as though eating was the last thing on his mind. "Dig in," he said to Alex, and she gingerly picked up a slice before taking a tentative bite. It was warm and soft to the bite. She looked up to tell him that the it tasted fine, but the look on his face stopped the words coming from her mouth.

He was staring at her—well, not quite staring, as some people do unpleasantly, but rather gazing in silent curious wonder, as though she were a particular breed of puppy that he had never seen before. His brows were furrowed, as though this puppy was posing a terribly difficult puzzle for him to solve, but the way his mouth formed a half smile told her that he wasn't unhappy.

Alex cleared her throat. "The pizza's getting cold," she said. This seemed to make him wake from the daze somewhat.

"What did the Sorting Hat tell you?" Alex asked, watching him chew. Altair shrugged.

"That it had never seen my kind before," he said before frowning, as though catching himself off-guard. "Whatever that meant," he added quickly.

"The Darkhiders?" Alex asked. Altair spluttered.

"Sorry?"

"The Darkhiders," Alex repeated. Altair stared at her for a while.

"Do I even want to know how you found out about that?" he asked eventually. Alex shrugged.

"I might have snuck into the Restricted Section," she said. Altair shook his head.

"That's old legend," he said. "My parents came from the continent, I know that much—but the group is long gone. Even Grindelwald couldn't find them." His face darkened a little. "Not that _he_ 's a particularly pleasant person to talk about. Shouldn't you be eating more? You still grow at fifteen, right?"

Alex didn't know how she was supposed to react to that. "I stopped growing more than a year ago," she said.

Altair looked vaguely disappointed. "Really?" he said.

"Girls usually don't grow much at fifteen."

"Huh," he said. "I didn't know that—I didn't have any sisters."

"Or brothers," Alex supplied.

"Or brothers," Altair conceded before looking at her oddly. "Just how much did you find in the Restricted Section?"

"I got it from the Hogwarts album collection in the library."

"Oh," Altair said. "Naturally."

"I spend a lot of time in the library."

"Do you?" he said. "What's your favorite subject?"

Alex hesitated. "Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said. "I don't know—it's always hard to tell."

"Why would it be hard to tell?"

"Well—it's supposed to say something about you, isn't it? When you say you like Defense Against the Dark Arts, it's like you're making a political statement."

"Aren't you?"

"I don't know," Alex said glumly, thinking about Regulus' smiling face in the mirror that morning and her mother's absent bedroom.

"If it makes you feel any better," Altair said, looking somewhat hesitant, "defense was my favorite subject, too."

"Really?" Alex said, and she found that it did somehow make things better… "Did it help you—make a choice about your career? I'm entering fifth year, and all—"

The wry smile came again. "I guess it did."

"And what do you do—oh," Alex said, trying not to look too disappointed. "You can't say."

"I'm sorry," Altair said. "If it's any consolation, it's for your own good."

"How can that be for my own good?" Alex said. Altair looked away.

"I heard that you didn't really get along with my grandparents," she said, trying to change the topic. She found that she didn't really mind talking to him, not at all…

"Which ones—oh. Soph's parents. No, not really," he shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Have you met your grandfather?" Altair said, as if that said everything.

"No," she said. "He refuses to see me." Altair's face crumpled a little, but he tried to mask it with a smile.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Grandma's rather nice, though," Alex said.

"Oh, Clara's perfectly lovely," Altair said.

"Mum's a bit like her."

A strange, faraway look came into his eyes. "Yes," Altair said quietly. "Yes, she rather is, isn't she?" He seemed to grow conscious of Alex's look and checked his watch—Muggle watch, Alex noted with a bit of a surprise.

"It's growing late," he said. "And I should have you home before your mother arrives."

Alex stood up automatically before she had time to process what he actually said. "Wait, what—"

But Altair had already gone away to pay and Alex followed him to the door cautiously. He continued to walk once they were both outside, however, and didn't stop until they reached a relatively secluded alleyway.

"How do you know about my mom?" Alex demanded. "No one's supposed to know—"

"Hold on to me," Altair said, getting ready to dissaparate. Alex took his arm and braced herself for the foreign sensation of being squished into a very tiny cube. When she regained enough awareness, they were in an alleyway a few blocks away from her house. It was so dark that she could almost not see his expression.

"Wait," she said. "How do you know about this place—how did you find me?"

"Hiding you amongst Muggles might have worked when no one was looking, but people are looking now," Altair said quickly. "I'm sorry, Alex, but I don't have a lot of time, and there's always a chance that someone saw us."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Altair opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, apparently having thought better of it. Alex ignored the sting in her eye and made the move to go.

"Wait," he said. "Before you go, I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"Something's approaching," Altair said slowly. "I can't say what, and I can't say when, but the thing that affects every person in Britain—and you must understand what I mean—is growing stronger. In the Slytherin house this advice may be useless, but trust no one, Alex. No one, except your mother."

"And you?"

"I—" again Altair seemed to think better of something, and stopped.

"You are still wearing the necklace that I sent you, aren't you?" he asked instead, and Alex's hand flew automatically to her neck.

"That was you," she said. Altair nodded.

"It's a rather outdated thing, but—it has been passed down for generations for a reason, I should like to think. It's supposed to protect you, when nothing else can. Now you should go."

Alex hesitated. "Wouldn't you like to come in?" she asked in a small voice.

For a moment Alex thought Altair hesitated, too, but the moment passed quickly. "I can't," he said. "And—ah, best not to tell your mother that you saw me."

"Why not?"

"It may be yet another thing that she could never forgive me for," and the sad smile that he gave her at this moment would stay with Alex for the rest of her life. But Alex didn't know that now. All she knew was that her father was leaving.

"But—"

"Go!" he said so urgently, that Alex found her feet obeying him when her heart wasn't in it. "Go!" and he said something to her in a language that she didn't understand.

"Bye," she muttered before turning around to go. The streets were now completely dark, lighted only by the street lamps. The moon wasn't up that night.

When she looked back, he was already gone.

The windows of her house shone with light when Alex reached it close enough to see it—a sure shine that her mother was indeed home. But the sight, instead of making her feel happy and warm, shook her in its eerie unfamiliarity. Again she wondered how it was that Altair Wymond knew of her mother's whereabouts or where she would be tonight with so much accuracy when even Alex didn't know when her mother would be back—because her mother herself didn't know until the last moment. _Trust no one_ , he had said, but the words seemed to apply more to him than anyone else.

As soon as she approached the entryway, Sophia Wilson hurried out to the front porch.

"Alex!" she said. "Where have you been? It's already dark, and you weren't by the restaurant—" Wordlessly Alex hugged her tightly and buried her face in her mother's shoulder—she was too tall to snuggle into her mother ever again.

"Sorry, mom," she said quietly. "I was just taking a walk. I didn't know that you'd be back today."

"Well," her mother said, sounding slightly mollified but still upset. "It's dangerous to go walking in the dark."

"I know," Alex mumbled. Sophia Wilson regarded her daughter carefully.

"I suppose it's all right," she said. "Nothing happened. Let's go inside—I made dinner."

Alex realized that she actually hadn't eaten much at the pizzeria. "What are we having?" she asked.

"Mushroom ravioli and spinach salad," her mother said, leading her into the house. Alex remembered for the first time that evening that her mother was rather fond of spinach—and that she didn't know what Altair Wymond liked.

"Okay," she said quietly. She lingered at the doorstep and cast one last glance at the darkness.

"Alex?" her mother called from inside the house.

"I'm coming," she said, closing the door. "By the way, grandma wrote a letter."

Sophia Wilson was informed on what had happened that spring. "Oh?" she said simply, but Alex knew that it made her glad to hear about her parents, at least a little.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Apparently the country air suits both of them quite nicely. I wasn't sure what she was talking about with 'Riverdale,' but maybe you know. So grandfather's condition has been looking quite good, and grandma says that they think he'll be able to resume normal activities pretty soon…"


	19. Chapter 19

Not many words need to be said about the rest of the summer.

Sophia Wilson had remained with her at home for the rest of the summer except for the few occasions when she had to floo to London for meetings at the _Transfiguration Today_ headquarter. Alex didn't know how it was done—how she could just be on a random mission for several months before resuming "normal work" (although based on what her mother had brought home to test the articles Alex had an inkling that being an editor at _Transfiguration Today_ was a rather explosive work)—but she had decided that it was more than enough to be able to see her mother every day and know that she was safe.

Alex informed Regulus only half-regretfully that she would not be able to attend the tea party. To be honest her desire to see him again was quite superseded by her fear of his mother and what she would say to her if and when they ever met. Regulus was nice about it, but Alex thought that he looked a little tired the last time they spoke through the two-way mirror. Of course, he wouldn't say anything about it. Alex wondered if she should send him Muggle medicine, if that would help at all…

And the summer was almost over.

The last week of August was somehow very cool that year, as though the seasons themselves could not wait to end the particular chapter and move on to the next one, autumn. She had already given her notice to Krater, who shrugged at the news of her leaving with a nonchalant shrug and a hastily packed fish and chips (so that she could take it with her to London, he said. Alex accepted without an argument). She was slowly trudging back to her home when she realized that she had to get some things to take with her to London. A few apples, a candy bar, something…

"Mr. Muson!" she said in surprise. "I thought you were away."

The old man had been cleaning the shop door slowly. "I was," he said without much elaboration. He made a move to get up with his water bucket, but struggled with the weight.

"Let me help you," Alex said, setting down the fish and chips. "Is your store open?" Mr. Munson watched her carry the bucket inside.

"Not quite," he said. "What do you need?"

"Er, just a few things," she said.

"Leaving for that school?" he asked.

Alex wasn't sure if she should be surprised or not. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah. An apple or two. Also a toothbrush..."

Mr. Munson grunted behind the counter. "There's some boxes of things that just came in, over there." He nodded toward the corner. "Help yourself." Alex nodded.

"So where were you?" she asked as she peered into the boxes.

Mr. Munson shrugged. "Around. My nephew came into town."

"I didn't know you had a nephew." Mr. Munson shrugged again.

"So you've been alright?" he asked instead gruffly, arranging some things on the counter.

Alex looked at him with an odd smile. Mr. Munson usually didn't ask things commonplace or conversational. He usually didn't say anything, much… "I guess," she said. "Mom's back in town. That's always nice." Mr. Munson handed her the bag. She handed him the money and looked over the things in the bag.

"Mr. Munson," she said slowly, "I'm pretty sure that I didn't put the Mars Bars in there..."

He didn't even look up from his counter. "Enjoy the trip," he said. "Have fun at school." Alex felt her face heat up slightly in embarrassment and gratitude.

"Thank you," she said, clearing her throat. And that was that.

King's Cross Station was, as usual, full of people, and Alex wondered for the thousandth time why the wizards couldn't choose someplace more remote and unnoticeable to ship their children to Hogwarts every year.

"Here we are," her mother said, sounding as affected by the crowd as she was as they stepped from the magical column. "Platform nine and three quarters."

"Okay," Alex said, looking around. The platform seemed so surreal again, with the wizarding robes and owls hooting from their cages and distant shouts of "Beware of the whomping willow!" She was a part of this, and she couldn't believe it, not even today.

"Remember what I said," Sophia Wilson said.

"Mum, I _know_ —"

"I meant it—health first. I know being a prefect doesn't sound like much, but it really takes up a lot more time than you expect, so make sure you're getting enough sleep and eat enough healthy foods."

"Honestly, I don't even know what Professor Dumbledore was thinking, making me the prefect of all people." Alex shook her head at the memory of the letter landing on her breakfast table one morning and finding the prefect badge inside the envelope.

"Well, if he sees half of what I see, that he made the right choice," Sophia said, looking fondly at her daughter, and Alex looked down at her shoes.

"Right," she muttered, trying to ignore the elated feeling in her heart. The train let out a long whistle.

"You should go now," Sophia said. Alex nodded and hugged her mother.

"Be careful," she murmured, trying not to show that she was worried, worried sick about what would happen to her mother once she got to Hogwarts and was within the safe confines of the castle. Her mother had none of that, none of the protection, and the news on _Daily Prophet_ was getting worse and worse every day…

"Of course I will!" Sophia said brightly. "I even think that we'll be able to see each other during the holidays."

"Alright," Alex said reluctantly. Suddenly she didn't want to go to Hogwarts. Couldn't time stop right here, when everything seemed possible? But the train blowed the whistle again.

"Bye," she said, swallowing down several things at once. Her mother was still smiling brightly. She shouted something from the crowds, but the train had begun to move and it was too loud to hear anything. Alex tried to show that she didn't hear what she said, but her mother's face had already disappeared among the crowd. She turned back and dragged her trunk into the car, hating that she had to go through this every year.

Even the Slytherin compartment felt emptier than usual.

"Hi," she said quietly to Leila, who was sitting by the window, her head resting lazily on Rosier's shoulders. Leila hadn't mentioned anything to her in the letter, and Alex wasn't sure if they were still together—she supposed that they were.

"'Lo, Alex," Leila said, grinning lopsidedly. "How was your summer?"

"Wilson," Rosier sounded no less loopy. "Corking good to see you."

Alex was beginning to suspect the reason for the emptiness of the compartment.

"Party last night?" she asked casually.

"Party? What party?" Leila's slurred words spoke more than her words. "There was no _party_."

"It's the first day of school, Wilson!" Rosier said, nodding furiously. "We wouldn't _dare_."

"Right," Alex said, half-amused, half-worried. She knew that alcohol and "recreational" drugs were not uncommon among upperclassmen. She just didn't think that she would ever reach that age when those things would be common among her classmates. "Well, I have to go," she said after watching them loll about in the sunlight.

" _Go_?" Leila sounded scandalized. "You can't just _go_. We have to play—'sploding exap or whatsit—"

"Emploding Knap," Rosier supplied. "Er—no, k'mplodin k'nap…." they broke into a fit of giggles.

"Exploding Snap," Alex supplied. "Well, you two can look for the cards when I'm gone."

"'kay..." Leila said before her head slid off his shoulder and she fell asleep in Rosier's lap. Soon Rosier was snoring, too. Alex looked around. Indeed most of the upperclassmen were missing, including Regulus. She frowned. Regulus wouldn't go and get himself hooked on—whatever it was, would he? Some of the third and fourth years looked skeptically at their direction and Alex raised her eyebrows at them. They looked away.

The prefect compartment was already full when Alex pulled at the door.

"You're late, Wilson," the seventh-year head boy said curtly.

"I know," she said. "There was—er—situation at my compartment. Sorry." He waved her off.

"As I was saying before Wilson kindly interrupted us," the seventh-year said. Several people laughed. Alex raised her eyebrows again—arseholes. "Prefect rounds. Those of you who are new should know that you'll be doing rounds once or twice every week, depending on how other students in your house are doing. We have a biweekly meeting on Saturdays..."

Alex looked around surreptitiously. Lily Evan's red hair caught her attention almost immediately. Alex wasn't surprised—she was probably the best student in their year. Next to her stood Remus Lupin, looking somewhat uncomfortable in his position. His eyes kept shifting toward the door, as if he expected something bad to happen any minute. Next to them stood the sixth-year Gryffindor prefects, who also looked like they were at a raging party last night. Alex shook her head. These things—she hadn't noticed them last year. Why was it that she was noticing these things now, of all days? Was her position as a prefect suddenly sharpening all senses? She looked around the compartment. Hufflepuffs listening earnestly, Ravenclaws looking quite ravenously at the schedule being passed around… most Slytherins weren't here, but Alex thought that maybe that was for the best…

Regulus was looking at her, his eyebrows arched incredulously. When their eyes met he cocked his head to one side, as though he couldn't believe that she didn't spot him before. Alex smiled faintly. How long had Regulus been standing in the shadows? But he was across the compartment, and he hadn't made a single movement since she'd come in. Just stood there, watching people talk, pass around several things, not getting involved in any of the things. He had already changed into school robes and there was the prefect badge glinting faintly on his chest next to his captain badge. Alex pointed at the badge and mouthed ' _you, too?'_ Regulus shrugged, as if he hadn't seen it coming, either.

"That's about it," the head girl said after about thirty minutes. "Questions?" No one raised their hand in eagerness to leave and they were dismissed without further trouble.

"Prefect?" Alex said once they were in the corridor. Alex tried to remember the parts that she was assigned to patrol. Regulus would certainly remember it better… "You didn't tell me _that_."

"You didn't tell me, either," Regulus pointed out. "It's not very difficult to do, you know."

"Right," Alex said, not knowing how to tell him that she found it too embarrassing to tell anyone, even him, that she had been made a prefect. It was one thing to do well in her studies by working hard. She wasn't sure about being a prefect.

"So where were you?" she asked. "Didn't see you in the Slytherin compartment." She peered into one of the windows of the compartments to see that there was nothing bad going on. It felt silly. Regulus for his part seemed to be listening intently for something out of order.

"I don't think there's anything going on here," he supplied. Alex nodded and they kept walking.

"I was trying to talk to Sirius." Regulus said after a while. Alex looked at him.

"That's about it," he added.

"Didn't go well?"

"Nope," Regulus replied. He didn't sound frustrated or angry—just weary.

"But you keep trying."

"Do I have another choice? He's family. My parents are certainly in no condition to do their part. I need to do mine."

Alex tried to figure out how she could best show her sympathy and let Regulus have space—he didn't really like being coddled, she knew, or being openly cared for, or anything that suggested that he needed that sort of support. Which, Alex supposed, was not an abnormal thing in the Slytherin house. It didn't pay to show your weakness where everyone was trying to perceive every vulnerability in you.

So she squeezed his shoulder slightly and dropped her hand just as quickly. Regulus cleared his throat.

"Listen," Alex stopped suddenly, frowning into the air. Regulus stopped beside her.

"What—"

"Can't you hear it? The noise," she pointed at her right. "That way."

Regulus listened for a moment, and his face shifted. "Oh," he said. "Alex, I don't think that's really anything—"

"Reg, something just _crashed_ in there," Alex said, scrutinizing Regulus' face. She couldn't tell what he was thinking—why on earth was he wearing that kind of an expression?

Regulus cleared his throat again, but this time it didn't seem to be in order to keep his emotions in check.

Alex shot him an odd look before knocking on the door of the compartment. The windows were obscured by the blinds. No answer came, but the noise kept growing.

"Alex, I really don't think—"

Alex opened the door, wondering exactly what she should say. Something prefect-y, maybe, although she didn't really want to have a confrontation. Why couldn't this have fallen into those Ravenclaw prefects who actually liked picking on people and making everything perfect?

The sight in front of her wiped her mind blank.

Rebecca was standing facing one of the walls, her arms supporting her as her torso bent slightly under the weight of—Rabastan leaning over her. Rebecca was quite completely unclothed, and Rabastan was only in a slightly more modest state. He huffed out his breaths in short intervals.

"Erm," Alex said quite pathetically. She seemed to have located two fifth-years who were missing from the Slytherin compartment. Rebecca, on the other hand, seemed more articulate—perhaps not in the best way.

" _Regulus_?!" she cried in dismay, and the owner of the name shut the door before anything else could be said. They stood in silence in the corridor for several seconds. Judging from the noises that emanated from the compartment, the people inside weren't finished yet.

"Erm," Alex repeated. Heat had spread over her entire cheeks like milk spreading into a cup of tea, except that nothing was comforting like a cup of tea because that was Rebecca in there with Rabastan while Leila and Rosier were lying asleep half addled in the compartment and she was late to everything as usual. Her knees bucked beneath her.

"Oh god," she said softly under her breath, not even aware of the fact that she had muttered a Muggle expletive. Regulus, on the other hand, seemed to have a better sense of his surroundings.

"Come on," he said, gently leading her by the shoulders. "I think we're done with our rounds anyway."

"You were right," Alex said dumbly. "Should have listened to you."

"No, I wasn't," Regulus said. "Prefects are supposed to stop and report all inappropriate behaviors within the school setting. The train and—er—what we saw fell under that category."

"Yes, but—no one really does that, they just really let people get off easy, and besides, aren't they supposed to happen in—broom closets or something—" Alex was babbling and she knew it. So she stopped and closed her mouth.

"No one goes to the broom closets anymore," Regulus said gravely.

Alex whipped her head and looked at him with lost eyes. "They don't?" she asked.

"Not unless they're a couple of desperate second-years, no." Regulus looked far too amused to be concerned.

" _What is wrong with everyone_?" Alex cried. "Leila and Rosier are intoxicated, and—"

"Actually, they're a bit drugged," Regulus said. "But I suppose that biologically the mechanism is the same. Drug and alcohol both change the chemical compositions in the body that affect the neural activity—"

"This isn't your Muggle Studies lecture, Regulus!" Alex yelled in panic. Regulus looked at her for a long while and Alex felt un involuntary blush creep up her cheeks again as the image of Rebecca and Rabastan came back to her mind. She looked away, berating herself mentally. Her conversation with Leila the year before began to play itself automatically in her ear. _Thought that you two were shagging_ …

"They had a party," Regulus said eventually. "It's some new potion from Zonko's that they sell in special catalogues. I don't think it's fatal—Zonko's sell many things, but they're not allowed to deal merchandise that can do actual harm."

"And you know this because you were there." Alex stated. Regulus didn't answer.

"Merlin," Alex said, shaking her head. "What's happening to everyone?"

"Fifth-year politics," Regulus answered. "It'll blow over by sixth year."

"That's very reassuring," Alex said. Regulus shrugged.

"You don't seem fazed at all," Alex said. She couldn't keep the accusation out of her voice. But why was she reacting this way? Apparently this was all a normal phase. Drugs. Sex. Regulus certainly didn't seem perturbed. But Regulus wasn't perturbed unless things were acutely desperate. And if he didn't think these things were desperate, than should she stop making such a big deal out of them? But everything was foreign, and although she knew that back home her former classmates did various things that weren't much different, she thought that—that things would be different at Hogwarts. With wizards. What a stupid idea. And this time everything was happening right in front of her eyes.

"I imagine that it matters a great deal if you're actually participating," he said. "But I confess that I didn't care for the potion." His nose wrinkled automatically.

"You had it too?" Alex said, her voice creeping up higher and higher with each word.

Regulus seemed to register that Alex was getting upset. Alex wasn't sure what she was more upset about—that these things happened, or that she was upset by these things. No one else seemed upset. Was she being just a child for being upset?

"Just a sip," Regulus assured her hurriedly. "Everyone else was there, and it was impossible to simply fake it—come on, Alex," he said, drawing her closer. Alex realized that his arm was still around her shoulders and froze stiffly. "Nothing happened."

"Really," she said drily, "because Leila and Rosier were trying to figure out how to say 'Exploding snaps.'"

Regulus' lips twitched. "What did they say?"

"'kmplodin 'knaps," Alex said reluctantly. Regulus grinned.

"'Course they did."

"I'm serious."

"No, you're not. You're much prettier than he is." Alex looked at him in disbelief, and Regulus grinned back at her. She had never heard him make the 'Sirius' name joke with anyone—found it mostly dull, as those jokes invariably led to jests about his own name, which he disliked in general. And he said that she was pretty. Well, not in those exact words. But still. She thought she could measure the rate at which her heartbeat was speeding up and wanted to laugh at her own silliness but couldn't. He was still smiling at her.

"I don't know. Sirius is quite pretty," she ended up blurting out. Regulus' smile slipped by a degree.

"Is he?" he said. They were still walking down the corridor. Alex never knew that the train was so long.

"Most people seem to think so."

"Do you?"

Alex paused. "Didn't really notice," she lied. Of course she noticed—every line and corner of his face reminded her of Regulus. But she wasn't going to tell him _that_.

"Huh," Regulus said. Alex couldn't tell if he was convinced or not.

"Y'know," Regulus began inconsequentially, "you should tell Lestrange."

Alex frowned at him, confused. "About what?"

"About what you saw," Regulus said. "If it bothers you so much. I'm sure that he'll be more than willing to come to you—I don't think he cares for her—not much anyway." His face was impassive—almost good-humored—and Alex tried to look at his eyes, but they avoided her. She looked at him furiously.

" _That_ ," she said, "is a horrid thing to say." She shook his arm off her shoulders and began to stomp away from him as quickly as possible, trying to hide her face and that his accusation hurt her. Why would Regulus say anything like that? In the four years that they'd known each other, he'd never said anything that was intentionally hurtful. And to bring up Rabastan, of all people, whom she didn't even like, when he knew exactly how she felt about unwanted attention regarding her body, with that kind of a cold ironic twisted face—

"Alex," Regulus had caught up with her, but she didn't want him to see her face. He grasped her wrist.

"Let me go," she said.

"I'm sorry," Regulus said, and he genuinely sounded regretful.

"Fine," Alex said. "So let me go."

"I'm sorry," Regulus repeated. "I didn't mean—I didn't mean it like that."

"Really?" Alex said sardonically. "How did you mean it then?"

"Alright, I did," Regulus admitted. "But—it was just momentary—I would never—I don't want to hurt you. Least of all people—Alex, please look at me."

"Let go of me," Alex said stubbornly. Regulus sighed and reached for her face. She drew back, but he was faster—and surprisingly gentle.

"Alex, I—are you crying?" now he sounded panicked, and she tried to turn her face away, feeling more like a child than ever before, but he was already wiping the corners of her eyes with the sleeves of his robes.

"Stop it," Alex muttered, trying to swat him away. Regulus didn't budge.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, and Alex had no choice but to look at his face, a face that always intimidated her a bit, because he was, to use his words, indescribably "pretty," and she was—well, not. Regulus, she knew, had weaknesses, other sides than his self-assured, ever-confident, never-failing self, but sometimes she couldn't remember what they were.

"You're right," he said. "That was a horrid thing to say." Alex swallowed.

"It's fine," she said finally. The worry line between his brows disappeared, and his shoulders eased a little bit. But he didn't let her go.

"You know, I think we should really get back to the compartment, just to make sure that Leila is still breathing and everything—"

"Alex," Regulus said. Something in his voice made her stop and it was now her who was avoiding his eyes.

"We haven't seen each other for three months," he said quietly. "And I—"

The door by their side banged open and Rosier strode out with a sort of haphazard purpose, looking around with a swagger that seemed too unstable to be called intentional. Alex reflexively stepped away, feeling Regulus' fingers caress her cheeks. Regulus immediately adopted a look of faint amused disdain directed at Rosier.

"Wazzup," Rosier said, staggering as the train shook.

"Rosier," Regulus answered. "You've looked worse."

Rosier smirked. "I fear," he slurred slowly, "that Parkinson there has more life in her than two..." he frowned as he racked his brain for the word. "Penguins," he decided with satisfaction.

"Penguins?" Alex said skeptically, hoping that this wasn't one of the innuendos that she always came across unguarded.

"Yes, those large orange cats that sort of prowl… with black stripes on their backs, y'know?" Rosier looked very proud of his articulation.

"Tigers," Regulus supplied. Rosier shook his head adamantly.

"Nope," he said, popping his lips. "It is the penguins, my friend." He patted Regulus as a show of camaraderie that he would usually never dare.

"I see," Regulus said, not looking particularly edified.

"Tell me, where is that trolley wench? I mean trolley witch? Witch trolley?" Rosier rasped. "I am positively dying of thirst."

"No idea," Regulus said. "It's probably too early."

"Damnations," Rosier said, his eyes not focusing on any particular spot. "Then I suppose that I must get back to my lady penguin—" with a smirk at Regulus' direction he went back to the compartment, swaggering as jollily as a tap-dancing penguin. The pair stared after him for a while.

"How much potion do you have to take to be like _that_?" Alex wondered aloud to no one in particular.

"I suspect that he's still drinking," Regulus answered drily. "C'mon, I think we've finally found a place to put the prefect badge to good use." Alex didn't argue as Regulus held out the door for her.

The rest of the Slytherin house came tickling into the compartment as the day progressed, and Rebecca, avoiding the general direction that Regulus was sitting, crept in quietly and sat in the far corner of the space where there wasn't much light. Rabastan came in soon after, looking slightly more confident but no less hung-over. Regulus for his part didn't seem to notice their entrance, as his attention was focused on getting Rosier to reveal the location of his secret stash of potions and alcohol.

"Rosier," he said pleasantly, as one would ask a three-year-old child to give back the shiny rattle, "I mean it."

"He can't tell you," Leila said tiredly, for whom the effects of the potion seemed to be finally wearing off. She groaned, apparently sporting a massive headache. "Bugger," she muttered.

"And why not?" Regulus asked again pleasantly.

"He's too high!" Leila shouted out, laughter bubbling in her voice, and then immediately bent over. "Oh, Merlin," she swore. Alex could swear that Regulus was swearing, too.

"Hold on," she motioned at Regulus not to say anything.

"Leila," Alex said in grave tone.

Leila looked at her askew. "Hello," she said, as though she hadn't seen Alex until now. Alex beamed back at her.

"Hi," she said. "How was your summer?"

"Spec _tac_ ular," Leila was still beaming. "You missed out on _a lot_."

"I've no doubt," Alex said, her voice again grave. "I'm feeling _really_ left out, you know that?"

Leila's eyes widened in alarm. "Left out?" she repeated in a worried voice. "But that's not what I meant!"

Alex raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Really?" she said. "Because you're having all the fun and I was alone in my little Muggle village."

Now Leila's face was the epitome of tragic pity. "Oh, no," she said.

"Yes," Alex said. "And I am _very_ upset with you."

"But I'm so _sorry_!" Leila wailed.

"I don't believe you."

"No, really!" Leila protested. "You know what?" then she leaned toward Alex and whispered urgently in her ear. Alex listened attentively, nodding.

"I see," she said.

Leila nodded with a very serious, very intoxicated face. "Yes," she said earnestly. "And you mustn't tell that stuck-up good-for-nothing Prince about it. Promise?"

It took a while before Regulus realized that Leila was talking about him. "Wai— _what_?" he sputtered. Alex suppressed a grin.

"I promise," she promised solemnly.

Alex sat with Leila for a while until she fell asleep, lest she suspect Alex of betraying her trust. Rosier by then was drawing images on the window that uncannily resembled the male phallus. Deeming that it was safe enough, Alex gestured discreetly at Regulus. He raised his eyebrow.

"Did you wish to speak to the stuck-up Prince?" he drawled. Alex smiled.

"You forgot the good-for-nothing part," she reminded him. His eyes darkened.

"No," Regulus said, "I haven't."

"Alright," Alex said, lowering her voice. "Leila told me that Evan is keeping most of the stash in his trunk. It's at the bottom of the pile, so you might want to wait until we reach the castle."

"Or," Regulus said, not looking particularly happy, "we could just burn the entire thing right here. Pretty sure that the alcohol will make the process a lot easier."

Alex felt the oddest urge to tweak his nose. She held it back.

"And according to Leila," she continued, "there is a tiny flash near his, er..." she wondered how she could best say this. Regulus looked at her inquiringly. She looked meaningfully toward the pictures that Rosier was drawing.

A look of horror dawned on his face.

"Oh, no," he whispered.

Alex tried not to giggle. "Yup," she said. "And it sounded like she got that knowledge from experience." Regulus was already looking at Rosier calculatingly.

"Well," he mused, "I suppose I could convince him that he _really_ needs to use the loo."

Alex didn't ask further, and twenty minutes later Regulus emerged into the compartment again with Rosier, who looked like he had just heaved up everything he had eaten for the entire week. Regulus raised his eyebrow and dangled a silver flask in his hand. Alex gave him thumbs-up.

"Please tell me that you washed your hands afterwards," she said. He barked out a laugh.

"And here I was, thinking that I was going to learn all about _telephones_ ," he said, somewhat ironically.

By the time they reached the castle grounds Leila had thrown up twice and was capable of standing and walking on her own, as long as there was someone to lead her toward the light. Alex let out a sigh of relief when Leila finally let go of her shoulder to slump on the dining hall chair. She could finally look around. The hall looked as large and imposing as ever.

"Welcome," Dumbledore said after the usual Sorting ceremony had finished, "to another year at Hogwarts. I am certain that you are eager to dig in, but I would like to say a few announcements. First of all I would like to introduce Professor Kent, who will be taking over the post of the Defense Against the Dark Arts." A polite applause followed as Kent waved from his seat at the end of the faculty table.

"Second of all, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, wishes me to inform you not to venture into the Forbidden Forest, and more importantly, not to bring into the castle anything from the Forest..." several chuckle from the Gryffindor table hid Dumbledore's last words. Regulus rolled his eyes at the empty plates.

"Finally," Dumbledore said after several other things, "I would like to welcome to Hogwarts a very special exchange student from Bulgaria. I'm afraid that he is arriving rather late to extenuating circumstances—" but at that very moment there was a rather hasty bang from the outer hallway and students began to murmur.

"Bulgaria?" Leila, who seemed to have regained her sense somewhat, muttered. "Does that mean he's from Durmstrang?"

"Must be," Avery muttered back. "That's the only magical school in Bulgaria, in't it?"

"But he didn't _say_ Durmstrang," Alex said. Leila shrugged.

A young man appeared at the doorway of the Great Hall, looking quite calm despite his late arrival. He strode in quickly, his footsteps momentarily echoing in the hallway before being swallowed up by a fit of giggles from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. Alex frowned and craned her neck; sitting by the Slytherin table, it was difficult to see anything that was happening in the middle of the hall. Regulus shifted beside her, also looking curious.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the young man said. He definitely did have an accent, but Alex wasn't sure if it was Bulgarian. Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly.

"On the contrary, I would say that you are exactly on time!" he said magnanimously. "Mr. Henryk Nihit Lee, meet the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The young man turned around and smiled faintly at the student body, and Alex thought she could understand the giggles. His short hair was like wheat field in autumn, gleaming softly under the candlelights of the chandeliers. He was tall, taller than most boys in seventh year probably, and there was something confident and strong about his broad shoulders. He looked around steadily across the hall, missing no detail. Leila whistled under her breath. Rosier shot her an annoyed look despite his stupefied state. Alex gave them an amused glance before turning to look at the new student more properly.

Their eyes met.

At first Alex thought it was simply a momentary coincidence—his eyes at met hers during a general sweep of the Hogwarts population. But he tilted his head slightly, as though he was considering what he saw more deeply. Alex looked around, quite certain that he was looking at someone else. On either side of her sat Regulus and Leila, and neither of them looked particularly pleased at the moment. Leila was arguing softly with Rosier about the meaning of her whistle, and Regulus was—actually, Alex wasn't sure exactly what Regulus was thinking. She had never seen such a… dynamic expression on his face before. When Alex looked back at the new student, she found that he was still looking at her. No, _watching_ her.

"Mr. Lee," McGonagall said from behind him. "Please be seated on the stool. The Sorting Hat will decide in which house you will live for the next year."

He sat down slowly on the stool and every student watched as the hat was lowered onto his head.


	20. Chapter 20

"You won't believe what I just heard in the girls' bathroom on the fourth floor," Rebecca gushed, barging into their room.

Leila barely looked up from the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. "Yes, because any story starting with "what I heard in the girls' bathroom" is worthy of the front page in the _Daily Prophet_ ," she drawled.

"Screw you," Rebecca answered without malice. She sat excitedly by the foot of Alex's bed, her body bouncing with excitement. "So? Guess."

Leila heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Filch was discovered doing unspeakable things to Mrs. Norris?"

"What? No! Ew!" Rebecca shook her head, as though she needed to physically rid herself of the disturbing image.

"You asked," Leila said good-naturedly. Rebecca rolled her eyes and turned toward Alex.

" _Well_?"

"Erm," said Alex, not used to being asked anything by Rebecca. "Flitwick's going to cancel the quiz we have tomorrow at the last minute?"

"Noooooo," Rebecca whined. "Merlin, why can't you two be more normal, like everyone else?"

"Trust me, darling," Leila monotoned, "we wonder that about you every day."

To be truthful it wasn't that Alex had absolutely no idea what Rebecca was going to talk about. They had heard the same conversation starting with the same line several times in the last few weeks; Rebecca always arrived agitated and excited about half an hour after dinner, her eyes shining and her cheeks rosy. The subject of the conversation was always the same. But Leila was obviously not in the mood to play along (or she pretended not to—it was always difficult to tell with her) and Alex wished that there was something else that they could talk about. But alas, that was not her luck tonight.

"Alright," Rebecca said. "I'll just tell you."

"As we predicted," Leila grunted. Rebecca pretended not to hear this.

"So guess who's the new Beater on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team?"

"Really, haven't we already established that we suck at guessing?" Leila exclaimed exasperatedly, finally looked up from her textbook. Rebecca stuck her tongue out at her.

"Henryk!" Rebecca bubbled excitedly. "Isn't this great?"

"Really, I could've told you that and saved you a trip to the bathroom," Leila said. Alex looked curiously at her.

"How?" she asked.

"I'm the Quidditch commentator—I make it my business to be at every tryout, every practice, and every game that I can attend. It's my job."

"I think it's also called spying," Alex said. "Are people from other houses allowed to watch Quidditch practices?"

Leila shrugged. "Wouldn't know," she said. "I usually hide behind the banners."

Rebecca huffed impatiently. "Well, then, Quiddich commentator," she said sarcastically, "do you know how Henryk did?"

Leila now looked highly insulted. "Of course I know," she said. "He slipped by in Q-A, beat two successful E-3's before going back to B-q—"

"Okay, none of that jargon," Rebecca said. "If I may say so, he was _amazing_."

"You weren't even there," Leila pointed out.

"Whatever," Rebecca said. Alex looked skeptically at her own textbook.

Over the past few weeks Rebecca had uncovered many details about the new student. He was eighteen; his birthday was not due for at least two seasons; he had gone to a school in Bulgaria, but was homeschooled for some time in his life; he was currently taking classes with fifth years because he wasn't familiar with some materials and wanted to "practice his English." All these details had been carefully unearthed by the enthusiastic admirers who had found to their delight that Lee was amenable to questions and casual conversation. Alex supposed that there was no reason that she should mind anything about him at all—indeed, it wasn't as if he had done her harm. Regulus certainly seemed to breath more easily under the knowledge that Rebecca's interests for him were entirely diverted, even though he would never admit this out loud.

So Alex was quite certain that she was being paranoid when she said that she was wary of him.

But she had a feeling—and it was just a vague feeling—that he was watching her. Not even in a creepy, stalker kind of a way—just watching her. Silently gauging and reevaluating what she was doing. He made absolutely no overtures to get to know her—in fact, it sometimes felt like he was intentionally making sure that there was enough distance between them so that he would not be seen—but she still felt that he was nonetheless watching. She had wondered if she was simply flattering herself by imagining that a rather good-looking boy was taking an interest in her, but the look in his eyes, whenever their eyes met (which was seldom) was more scientific than romantic.

"… the first game, Alex?"

Alex shook herself out of the reverie. "Sorry, what?"

"Are you going to the first Quidditch game?" Rebecca repeated. "It's against the Hufflepuffs, I heard."

Alex frowned. "Don't we still have two months?"

"Does it even matter?" Leila said, sounding bored. "She has to be there, or she'll have to hear an earful from _someone_."

Alex rolled her eyes. "And who might that be?"

Leila's eyes widened in fake innocence. "Why, me, of course," she said. "I would be _very_ upset if you missed my excellent commentary."

"Right," Alex said, pulling herself out of the bed. "Well, I've got to go. Prefect rounds." No one said anything—presumably Rebecca was too busy writing everything down that she had heard about _Henryk_ into her "book" and Leila was attempting to understand why Defense Against the Dark Arts was worth her time.

Her prefect duties suited her poorly—or, Alex thought glumly as she stepped outside of the Slytherin common room, she suited her duties poorly. There was, as she had predicted, nothing prefect-y about her—she disliked command in general (it put her in the spotlight), she had to deal with people and persuade them to abide by the rules (she couldn't push herself to care that much about _everybody_ ), and she was taken out of her comfortable bed in order to do rounds around the castle—which might have been romantic, she supposed, had it not been for the fact that the weather was quickly growing cold.

"Remus," she said as a greeting.

"Alex," Remus answered. "Hopefully nothing will happen tonight."

Alex raised her eyebrows skeptically. Remus sighed.

Remus Lupin was possibly the only person who was worse at his job than Alex was, quite possibly because his best friends were the prefects' worst enemies, but Alex thought that Remus just disliked the idea of enforcing rules in general. He was awfully nice to younger students—even the Slytherin second-years at least pretended to listen when he was talking—and he seemed to have a knack for saying what the students wanted to hear. Something that Alex quite envied in Remus—and Regulus as well, although he was never very inclined to make others feel better about themselves.

Regulus had taken to his prefect position quite naturally, which made Alex more sour than ever. The Slytherins had already been looking up to him because he was "the Black Prince," but now it seemed as if they held his position and power as an immutable fact. Regulus himself showed no consciousness of this, but Alex suspected that it was an intentional effort at naturalness more than actual ignorance. She had heard enough of what he had said about Lucius Malfoy as a prefect to know his feelings on the matter.

"What do you think?" Remus said, nodding at the end of the corridor. Alex squinted.

"A light?" she said. "But not from the castle. Maybe from a wand."

"Maybe we should look into it." Remus's voice had grown quiet.

"Maybe—hold on." Alex squinted harder. "What's _that_?"

"Another light," Remus said. "And—oh, Merlin." He suppressed his groan and Alex shared the sentiment. The lights were beginning to move into two opposite directions.

"I'll go after the one on the right," Alex muttered. "You go after the left one. If we find anyone, we meet at Entrance hall."

"Alright," Remus whispered. "I hope it's just a practical joke."

Alex didn't have the heart to tell him that practical jokes had to have some kind of a target and comedy. Two moving wand lights just seemed to indicate two students out of bed after curfew. She shook her head. Why couldn't they just use the Calico charm, which gave them ability to sense some things in the dark? Why go for the obvious _lumos_?

She took after the light.

It moved slowly, almost leisurely, slowly climbing up the moving staircases. Gryffindor? Alex wondered, but dismissed the idea. They were going in the other direction—this wasn't where the Gryffindor tower was—

She froze. But it couldn't be.

Remus' comment about practical joke came back to her mind. Halloween—wasn't very far away. At least, her fear-addled mind seemed convinced that Halloween, which was more than six weeks away, was near. She was transported back to four years ago, a fresh first-year, having discovered some little thing in the library, so scared, so alone, so cold, the night had been so cold…

She tried to pull herself together. No one knew about the incident except for Regulus, and he would _never_ try to recreate the situation as a joke. Regulus—Regulus who wasn't here. She cursed the head boy and girl for changing the round schedule at the last moment. Usually Regulus would be here beside her. But he was in the Common Room, oblivious to what was happening with her right now, working on his Potions essay no doubt—she had even waved at him as she went out…

The light hovered by the staircase, as though it was waiting for her. She swallowed and tightened her grip on her wand. She wasn't twelve anymore. The light began to move again and Alex followed.

Then it reached the Owlery and disappeared.

Alex looked around, her breath coming out in short gasps. Her body was reacting to the trepidation regardless of her mind's attempt to reject it. She felt her lips tremble.

"Show yourself," she said. Her voice cracked. She tried to swallow.

"Now." Her voice sounded slightly more confident, but it still felt weak to her ears. The fear…

"Hello," the voice was familiar. She had heard it somewhere before—in class—

" _Lee_?" Alex said incredulously. But there was no one in the Owlery. " _Where are you?_ "

"In the dark," Lee responded as if that was the most natural thing in the world. "Don't you know that darkness is the best place to hide?" Alex swore under her breath.

"Stop hiding," she spat out. Her wand hand began to shake. "I don't have time for this."

"Of course you do," Lee's voice was still gratingly calm. "It's your job to go after errant students, right? As a prefect, I mean."

"You," Alex said, "have a _light_. That's not errant—that's a poor trick."

"Really?" Lee said. He sounded almost amused. "Do you even know what that light is?"

" _Lumos_ ," Alex gritted her teeth.

"Hardly," he replied. "If it had been _lumos_ than you should have been able to see things around it. Were you?"

Alex stared into the darkness save the blinking eyes of the owls, feeling almost helpless. This was beginning to uncannily resemble what had happened four years ago. The power play—he knew more than he let on, and she was supposed to be helpless, armed or not. "I'm leaving," she whispered. "Find someone else to lecture."

"Come on," Lee said. Taunting. He was now actually taunting. "Are you going to just give up, like you did four years ago? Wait for Black to save you?"

Alex froze.

"How do you know about that?" she said calmly. Too calmly. She didn't understand it herself.

"I have my ways."

"I—" Alex frowned. She didn't have to explain anything to him. Nothing at all. "I didn't give up," she said anyway.

"What did you do?" there was actual curiosity in his voice.

"Tried to fight back," Alex said. The memories were coming back again, but the calmness that had settled over her remained with her. Her mind was whirling at a thousand miles per second, going over each possibilities. How could he know? Regulus had reported the incident to McGonagall, who notified Dumbledore. So if he had read about it—she couldn't imagine any of the professors divulging the information freely—then he would've had to snuck in to one of their offices. Break some kind of protective charm that sealed the parchment in the cabinet—they wouldn't have left it lying around willy-nilly. So Lee had already broken some rules… but for what? All because of her?

"I didn't have a wand," Alex went on. "And I was outnumbered by sixth-years who were much bigger than me. But you already know all about that, don't you?"

A pause. "And if I do?"

"Why?" Alex said. There was now a strength in her voice. "Why?"

Lee didn't say anything.

"You just came to this school," Alex went on. "From Bulgaria. You couldn't draw the most remote connection between me and Bulgaria. To study. But it's odd, isn't it? Every magical community outside Britain has been avoiding us for the past decade, treating Britain like a bomb that's just about to go off. That's what _Daily Prophet_ says, anyway. You must've heard about the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters." Alex looked around in the dark. Was it just her, or was her surrounding getting lighter? "And no offense, but you're far too old to be in fifth year. Even McGonagall thinks that you're not being challenged academically. So why are you here?" No answer came.

"Lee!" she shouted. Still nothing. Alex growled.

" _Lumos maximus_!" she cried, and a momentary flash lighted every corner of the Owlery. Owls hooted resentfully from their coves, as though the intrusion of the light into their dark habitat was a moral offense that they could not endure. Even Alex's favorite school owl hooted dolefully. But all of this was lost on Alex as her eyes scanned every inch of the room with alertness that she didn't realize she possessed.

There was no one.

* * *

"Lupin!" Alex shouted as she ran down the stairs. "Lupin! Are you all rig—"

"Merlin, Alex!" Remus whispered from the Entrance Hall. "You'll wake up Mrs. Norris!" Mrs. Norris, sadly for her, was despised even by prefects who benefited from her constant vigilance against rule breaking and mischief making.

"Remus," Alex panted. "The light, the light that you were following—"

"It came to a dead end," Remus shook his head. "Just a joke played by James and Sirius, I reckon. They like to do that." Alex frowned. She suspected that the light that Remus followed was more of a diversion than anything else. But didn't Lee have to be there physically to keep the light going? What—

"Do they do that often?" her mouth was forming the words before Alex could register what she was saying.

"Sometimes," Remus admitted. "They think the position of the prefect is funny. Well, Sirius does, anyway, especially because Regulus is a prefect. James is going along for the ride, I think."

"Huh," Alex said, her mind still a whirlwind of thoughts. "Sorry."

Remus shrugged. "We should probably go back," he said. "It's past midnight."

Alex nodded. Remus patted her on the back and turned to leave.

"Wait," Remus said, frowning. "I'm forgetting something. The light. Did James and Sirius do anything to you? I mean, I don't mind it when they do it to me, but to you—"

"No," Alex replied quickly. "Nothing happened. Just another dead end."

She did not sleep well that night. In her dreams she kept going back to the Owlery, except that she couldn't see a thing and Lee's voice, magnified and strengthened thousand times by her unconsciousness, echoed endlessly in the tiny room. _What did you do_ , the voice echoed again and again. _What did you do, what did you do, what did you do_ …

Suddenly the Owlery began to grow visible. It wasn't the sun, and it wasn't any form of magic that Alex knew of. Slowly the light began to grow and his father was standing there in front of her with a cruel expression that she couldn't fathom. Why would he—

"Don't you know, Alex?" he said mockingly. "Darkness is the best place to hide." Alex tried to say something, but it seemed that she didn't have a body, much less a voice, in the dream. She tried to step back, but this was impossible, as well.

"Hide in the dark, Alex," her father whispered menacingly. "That's the only place to go. Hide in the dark…."

Her eyes opened wildly to find the dim light of the lake flooding into the dormitory. Her breath came out in rough gasps. She was drenched in sweat.

She got up from the bed mechanically, feeling her way through the room before locking herself up in the bathroom. Shower, probably. Robes. She trudged into the common room, not feeling much better but feeling that she didn't really have a choice. She sank into the armchair and closed her eyes, waiting for the sun to come up. All was so quiet.

"Alex?" a curious voice said from above her. "You're never up this early." Their eyes slowly met.

Impulsively, she reached out to him and pulled him down to the armchair with her, feeling his body fall on top of hers with a soft _oof_. Regulus was already dressed for class and the heavy book bag landed on one side of her arm, but she didn't care. Her arms hesitantly wound themselves around his torso and Regulus stilled.

"Alex," he said, sounding strained, "what's wrong?"

Lee's words came back to her mind— _Wait for Black to save you?_ —and Alex hated how he still seemed to be in her mind, even in her dreams. Hated him for affecting her answer to Regulus' question right now. "Nothing," she said, burying her face into his shoulder. This seemed to alarm Regulus more than anything.

"Alex," he said gently, "something is wrong. You normally never let me touch you."

Alex frowned. "That's not true," she protested. Regulus sighed.

"Really," he said. "How do you feel right now?" Then he proceeded to place his hands on either sides of her waist and lean his face closer to hers. She froze. She could feel his breath coming out of his nose blow on her cheeks. Alex didn't say anything.

"You don't like this," Regulus said, and Alex couldn't tell if he was being accusatory or simply matter-of-fact. "So what's wrong?" At his question her arms automatically tightened around him.

"Maybe I just missed you." The words were not what she had planned to say, but Alex was surprised at the truth in them.

Regulus didn't say anything for a while, and Alex was too nervous to turn to see what kind of expression he had on his face.

"Okay," he said eventually.

"And—and it's not that I don't like it," Alex continued. "When you—err—try to get closer. It's not you. It really isn't."

"What is it, then?" Regulus asked, for some reason sounding vulnerable. Alex swallowed.

"It's just that I keep thinking about Flannigan—"

"Alex," Regulus said. "You _know_ I'm not like that—"

"Of course I know," Alex said reassuringly. "I know that. It's not something against you. It's just—" Alex frowned, struggling.

"You don't trust boys?" Regulus suggested, sounding—unfathomable. Alex couldn't tell what he was feeling.

"I trust you," Alex said defensively. She thought she could hear him smile a little.

"Okay," Regulus replied and remained still. Slowly she snuggled into him, finding a position that felt less forced than before. Regulus shifted his body somewhat so that they could both fit in the armchair, but Alex noticed that while he let her tighten her arms around him he himself remained still, trying to—make her more comfortable, she realized. They lay in that position for a while, and Alex wondered if the drumming that she heard was her own heartbeat or his.

Eventually, voices came from the dormitory and they broke away.

"Shall we?" Regulus asked, gallantly offering her his hand. Alex rolled her eyes.

"Right," she said, pushing herself off the armchair. They went to breakfast.

The classes seem to roll by smoothly. Double Potions with Ravenclaws went by without a hitch, and even Slughorn seemed to be in bad enough spirit that he didn't boom to Snape and Regulus his typical _m'boys_ every few seconds. Lunch passed by again without anything happening, and Alex almost forgot what had made her grab Regulus like that in the morning when the reason appeared at the entryway of the Great Hall, silently listening to several Hufflepuffs chatting about something. Her grip on her fork automatically tightened, and Alex felt the unfamiliar urge to hurl the fork in his direction. She frowned. There was no need to go overboard…

"You alright?" Leila asked, her mouth half-full with mashed potatoes and something else that seemed to bother Rosier.

Alex came to her senses and looked around. She realized that she had stood up without noticing, and even Rebecca was looking at her with an odd look.

"'Course I am," she said, shaking her head bemusedly. She was still clutching her fork like a javelin. "Sorry for the alarm."

"Really Alex, I realize that Henryk is rather desirable, but there's no need to get up whenever he comes into the room," Rebecca said spottily. "Especially when you already have _one_." The implied relationship was not lost on Regulus, who pretended not to have heard anything. Meanwhile, Lee had found a seat by the Hufflepuff table and was calmly pouring himself a glass of water, not once looking at her direction. Alex gritted her teeth. So he was going to act as if nothing had happened, was he?

"Wilson," Leila leaned toward her and whispered, "even I wouldn't recommend staring at another bloke when your prince is present."

"It's nothing like that," Alex bit out. Leila shrugged.

"Sure looks like it," she said.

After lunch Regulus headed toward Muggle Studies, looking as unperturbed as ever, but Alex had seen his left eyebrow twitch sporadically during the meal, asking Alex silent questions that she couldn't answer. She had merely shaken her head, feeling a bit apologetic about not telling him everything, but things were not what he was suspecting and she knew that she didn't have anything to feel guilty about. She followed him out of the Great Hall soon after and stood idly by the entrance, pretending to be absorbed in her textbook. Soon they emerged, making jokes, small talk—even Lee seemed amused by something that Abbott was saying. Alex disengaged from the wall and began to follow them a few paces behind.

"Listen, I've got to go to the library..." Lee said at the foot of the staircase, and the rest of them nodded.

"See you later, then..." the group said, hands waving, nodding to the different direction. Alex quickened her pace to catch up.

"We need to talk," she said almost casually, looking in front of her as if nothing was the matter. Lee, not much to her surprise, responded in a similar kind.

"Who are you?" he asked instead, looking quizzically at her, but not enough to show that he was actually interested. Alex resisted the urge to thump him painfully on the head.

"You know who I am," she answered quietly. "I'm in your year."

Lee smiled ironically. "Sorry," he said. "I'm afraid that I haven't gotten to memorizing all the names yet."

"Really?" Alex said. "Then care to explain what you were doing last night in the Owlery?"

The confusion on his face grew more pronounced, and for a second Alex doubted herself. Had she imagined everything after all? Remus for one had not discovered anything by following the light, and she herself had not found anyone once she had looked around the Owlery. The owls, for one, seemed to have been disturbed by _her_ presence, and no one else's. Perhaps the lights had been just a practical joke pulled by Potter and Black, and she had, in a fit of fright and trauma, imagined the whole episode in her head. But it still didn't explain why it had been Lee, of all people, whose voice she had heard. If anything it should have been the perpetrators from her first year…

While all these thoughts were running through her head she saw a spasm on his face.

It was so small that she could have imagined it as well, but it happened again—on the right side of the face, a spasm seemed to take place involuntarily before Lee quickly schooled his expression. Alex frowned, feeling the traces of doubts vanish.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said calmly. Alex waited for another spasm, but it didn't come.

"You created two lights and led Remus down to the dungeons," Alex said, feeling childish in her accusation despite her knowledge that she was right and he was lying. "And you led me to the Owlery."

Lee scoffed. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about," he said, making a move to enter the library. "And I certainly don't have time for this. I have an essay due tomorrow..." But Alex lost her patience and grabbed him by the arm. Lee froze in his place, looking incredulously at her.

"Yes, you do know what I'm talking about." Her voice grew higher and higher hysterically despite her certainty. Lee merely gazed back at her cooly.

"No, I don't," he said, and gave her such a withering look that Alex felt mortified. She swallowed with difficulty.

"Besides," he went on, "why on Merlin would do anything so pointless as _that_? It's not as if I have the remotest interest in talking to you alone." His eyes narrowed. " _You_ don't have an interest in _me_ , do you?" Alex couldn't tell if this rudeness was common throughout Bulgaria or just unique to Lee. Probably the former. She felt her cheeks heat up despite her answer.

"Hardly," she retorted. "In fact, I—"

"Well, then," Lee interrupted. "Keep it that way. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to my assignment." Without sparing her another glance Lee turned around and began to walk briskly into the library. Alex stared after him, outraged and speechless. Around her a few people seemed to be giggling, having witness what they considered a first unsuccessful attempt at asking out the new exchange student.

"Wymond." Lee stopped in his track.

Words came out of her mouth without her thinking. "The Wymonds. Does the name mean anything to you?" He didn't turn around.

"Why are you asking me?"

Alex quickly thought. "They're a family based in Eastern Europe," she said quietly. "You're from Bulgaria. Was wondering if you're familiar with the name." The image of her father in her dream sprang up in her mind again, his voice hissing ever so softly, _hide in the dark, Alex_ …

Lee slowly turned around. "Listen," he said. "You seem to have some misguided idea that I know something. I don't. At all. And whatever you say won't change that. So please leave me alone." He turned and left again. The students were now giggling at full force, and some were even pointing their fingers at her. But none of these things were noticed by Alex, whose mind was whirling. She'd seen the left side of his face twitch again.

The rest of the day passed by without any other incident. Too tired by the afternoon, Alex only half paid attention in her Charms class and resulted in setting a practice jar of water on fire (this apparently was harder to accomplish than most people thought). Leila was looking at her oddly but didn't say anything, and Regulus sighed quietly before helping her pick up her books on the way to Ancient Runes. He didn't say anything during the class or dinner, and Alex was too preoccupied with her thoughts (or lack of them, since she didn't even know what she should be thinking) to realize that he was frustrated until he pulled her into a small alcove on their way back to common room from dinner.

"Alex," he said, sounding stern. "Something's wrong, and you're not telling me."

"Nothing's wrong," Alex insisted, resisting the urge to yawn. She was so tired…

"Then why do I keep hearing about—" there he stopped, struggling. Alex frowned.

"What?"

"About you and Lee," Regulus said. "Apparently you two had a nasty bit of a spat in front of the library."

"So? It wasn't anything."

"They said you two got together last night."

Alex began to understand where this was going, and she didn't like it one bit. "Merlin, Reg," she said. "Just what are you trying to say?"

" _I_ 'm not trying to say anything," Regulus said defensively. "But people are convinced that you were fairly adamant about you two having met last night."

"If you heard the gossip, then you would probably know that he denied it as well," Alex said, annoyed. Regulus' face hardened.

"So you did say that," he said. Alex felt her irritation rise—not at Regulus, she knew, but at Lee, and people who always had to nose into what others were doing, but Regulus was the only person in front of her bringing everything up again, her embarrassment, her frustration, and the fright that last night raised in her. But Regulus knew none of those things and she should have been able to tell him, but Lee's words— _Wait for Black to save you?_ —came back to her with a vicious bite and Alex growled in her position.

"Reg, just let it go," she said impatiently. "Lee's obviously just a prick and I don't care for your accusations. Nothing happened. Why can't you just accept that?"

"Alright," Regulus said, his patience wearing thin as well. "Then riddle me this. What kind of a girlfriend says things like 'I trust you' and _cuddles_ , of all things, with you in the morning and have a row with another bloke in the afternoon about their rendez-vous the night before?" Alex stared at his face incomprehensibly for a few seconds.

"I'm your girlfriend?" she asked in her dumbfounded state.

Clearly, this was not the right thing to say.

"Forget it," he snapped and stalked away, leaving her in the dark alcove. Alex blinked, trying to understand what had just happened in her sleepy state.

She knew that Regulus had a problem with jealousy. She suspected that growing up with Sirius had something to do with it, but Regulus usually was usually aware of his feelings better than most people and tried to discourage the negative effects of these feelings within himself. It was on the other hand difficult to understand why he would ever have to feel jealous because of her. When it came to him there could never be a competition for her—he was the only one she had or ever wanted, and he should have known that. _She_ , on the other hand, didn't have much to offer compared to what he could offer her—if anything she should have been more jealous of every other girl like Rebecca. Alex shook her head. She was far too tired to think about any of these things.

"Where were you?" Leila asked irritatedly when she finally came back to the dorm. Simultaneously, Rebecca bounced from her bed and exclaimed excitedly, "Guess what?"

"Walking," she said to Leila before turning to Rebecca. "If it's about Lee having a spat with me, then I already know."

Rebecca's eyes widened. "You had a spat with Henryk?" Alex cursed under her breath.

"Prefect duties," she said ambiguously. "He was out past curfew last night."

Rebecca waved her hand dismissively. "That's not very interesting," she said. "No, what I was _going_ to say was that someone had seen Henryk after the Quidditch practice as he was changing… _quite_ a catch, I've been told… Well I really have no doubt about that…"

Alex closed her eyes lying on her bed, only half listening to Rebecca's excited voice or Leila's amused comments. Exhaustion came over her—come to think of it, she had not slept all that much the night before. Groaning, she forced herself to get up and brush her teeth before trudging to bed. The last thing she remembered before losing unconsciousness in the dim light of her bedside lantern was an ironic thought that both she and Lee had not been very forthcoming to their respective accusers.


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning he woke up feeling irritated, gloomy, and a tad bit apologetic.

The irritation was easy enough to explain. The argument he had with Alex the night before had left him reeling about their relationship, although it was difficult to pinpoint the exact reason for this irritation. Was it because there was suddenly someone else in the picture? Was it the fact that she didn't seem to tell him everything like she used to? Or was it the fact that despite nine months of careful insinuations and hinting, she was as clueless as ever about his feelings? He supposed that it was all three of them, but the most direct cause of this argument, Lee, got most of the blame and Regulus pulled himself out of the bed imagining various ways in which he could make life harder for the new student. Perhaps jinxing his book bag to open every time he stood up might do…

But that was too childish and he was far too gloomy to actually carry on the task. Which brought him to the second emotion. He was beginning to find out that he hated arguing with her; they hadn't had many rows (possibly because they always skirted around topics that they knew would make them argue), and the experience was hardly something he wished to occur repeatedly. Contrary to popular opinion Regulus didn't like rows or confrontations—he had seen far too many of them as a child growing up in a Black household, where his parents couldn't be bothered to reach a mutual consensus and his brother was forever going against their parents' wishes. He held a vague belief that arguments in general were pointless endeavors unless the purpose of them was to grow frustrated and experience tiny heartbreaks that made up life. He wanted many things with Alex but those tiny heartbreaks weren't one of them.

Which brought him to the apologetic feelings.

Maybe he _had_ overreacted. Reason told him that Alex often didn't mean things in the worst possible way. When she said that she liked Honeydukes chocolate, she meant that she liked Honeydukes chocolate, and not that she wanted him to buy her some or that she found others who disliked the chocolate repulsive. When she said that she wasn't interested in Quidditch she meant that she wasn't interested in the games, not that she wasn't interested in _him_ playing in those games. When she said that Sirius was pretty she merely meant that most people found Sirius handsome, not that she wanted to act on that observation. So Regulus knew, rather than believed, that when Alex said that there was nothing to tell about Lee and herself, she meant that there really was nothing significant enough for him to know. And she was doing her rounds that night—she had probably just ran into him out of dorms after curfew and was simply telling him to not do it again.

And yet uneasiness nagged him at the back of his mind, whispering impossible things.

Alex was—always had been—difficult. It wasn't that she was terribly obstinate or that she demanded impossible things from him. But it always seemed to him—and Regulus wasn't sure why he was feeling this way—that she was just beyond the extent of his grasp, and that she herself seemed to be ignorant of the gap he felt existed because of her. Or perhaps she wasn't creating anything at all, and it was his own fault that he felt insecure about himself. But the facts remained that he never felt like he had her the way he might with Rebecca. Regulus shook his head. _That_ had been a rather large miscalculation on his part. He did not end up enjoying the relationship one bit and it only hurt Alex—and Rebecca too, Regulus supposed, although he had never put much weight on her feelings for him because they never extended beyond his family name and wealth.

Regulus traced the emerald tiles in the shower stall with his fingertip, feeling the weight of the warm water hitting his shoulders. His hair stuck to all sides of his head, lying flat and wet against his skin. He let out a ragged breath.

Thoughts about her in the shower never ended well.

 _Well, it really depended on how one defined well_ , he thought drily as his grip tightened on himself. He could only imagine how she would react if she could see him now in the shower, huffing slightly in his effort to reach the climax, eyes clinched tightly shut to see the imagined world in his mind where there was absolutely no one in the world but them—in a small cottage by the sea perhaps where the wind could not stir another soul but theirs. A simple bed. Her soft, dark hair (although Regulus had to admit even in his fantasy that he had no idea of knowing whether her hair was soft or not) spread wildly against the crisp, creamy sheets. Her cheeks flushed rosy. Her eyes were shining brightly and she had that lopsided smile that she had whenever they encountered a particularly delectable chocolate but a thousand times better because it was them in that bed and nothing else between them. Regulus let out an involuntary groan and bit his lips, trying to keep quiet despite the sound of the water spray against the tiled walls. Her arms reached for him, helplessly pulling him closer and he would surrender to the height of pleasure…

Alex wouldn't appreciate this very much. Alex, who froze whenever his hand came anywhere near her. But then again she sometimes surprised him in the most unexpected ways…

Regulus let out a harsh breath. Probably not the best time to test any hypothesis, considering the way they had parted the night before. He quickly dried himself with a towel and put on his robes. He would apologize to her—that is, for the parts where he was at fault—and ask her to explain as much as she could the kind of relationship that she thought they were in. He had abandoned friendship for them a long time ago, and he couldn't tell if she was just reluctant to cross that bridge or simply not interested in him that way. There had been moments, but—ah, how he disliked this uncertainty.

He had planned to approach her the moment she emerged from the girls' dormitory but he was stopped by something unexpected.

"Regulus." Dolohov sounded unusually grave and serious.

Regulus rubbed his temples to cover up his surprise. "Dolohov," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "What is it at this hour?"

"We need to talk about the meeting tonight."

Regulus cursed inwardly. He'd been too preoccupied with the thoughts of her and almost forgot about the meeting that night. Unusual for him to forget his duties. His mother's shrill advice—if one could even call that advice—rang again in his ears. _If you think I'm going to accept that mongrel blood-traitor as my daughter-in-law, you can just give up the honored name of Black…_ Regulus was not abashed enough to deny that he had been relying on Sirius to take most of his mother's outrage, as was generally the case for them.

"What is it?"

"Wilson," Dolohov whispered. "And a couple of others. Orders came from higher up. We need to start recruiting."

Regulus smiled sardonically. Trust Dolohov to make everything sound so important and hush-hush. But the contents of his words did not escape him and he sighed good-naturedly to mask his distaste.

"We can't approach them yet," he reminded Dolohov. "We haven't done enough background check to ascertain their allegiance, remember?"

"And Wilson?"

The accusation in Dolohov's tone was unmistakable. Regulus had heard it, implied or explicit, for the four years of their acquaintance. That Wilson, who was for some unknown reason linked to Black—who knows how long that'll last. The male members of the Slytherin house along with their relatives displayed interest in Regulus' "temporary fling" and sniggered behind his back, betting how long it would take before the Prince came to his senses and expressed interest in someone more suitable. Even Snape, whose friendship—Regulus scoffed at the image of Snape's longing gaze and the supposed term friendship—with Muggleborn Evans made him an object of suspicion, was skeptical about their relationship, however he understood it to be. Even Sirius, who should've been glad about his interest in someone who was non-typically Slytherin, accused him of lowering his taste. The only person who seemed to approve of their relationship was Leila Parkinson, who seemed to have developed a soft spot for Alex despite her haughty facade and rapier-quick comebacks. But a Parkinson's voice had little weight in discussions such as this and Parkinson herself knew it.

"She's still considering," Regulus said evenly, hoping for her sake as well as his own that his words were true and that Alex was at least considering the possibility of joining the ranks of the Death Eaters. But the image of her lying flushed and sweaty in their cottage by remote seaside flashed again in his mind and Regulus furled his hand into a fist in his pocket, realizing, and suppressing, for the thousandth time the contradictory feeling in himself: his desire to be was dutiful, and righteous, and just, and an equally strong impulse to abandon everything—like Sirius, although Sirius had never set a good example when it came to these sorts of things—and just whisk Alex off with him to an unknown part of the world, living out their lives in peace and quietude and small moments of happiness. He shook his head infinitesimally. Now was not the time for impossibilities. He began to stow away the image along with several others under the file titled pleasant thoughts for difficult times.

"She's already been to some of the meetings," Dolohov protested, but withered under Regulus' cool gaze. Regulus knew that behind this appearance of compliance there was resentment of being scolded by his junior and ambition to overcome the status of Black with his own power and Regulus wondered if he shouldn't at least peak into the file of pleasant thoughts for difficult times at some point and give each possibilities a serious consideration. Life like this wasn't living, it was functioning as a chess piece—a rather powerful chess piece, and Regulus would like to think that he wasn't just one of the pawns, but nonetheless a chess piece, and he didn't know who the actual players were or what the stakes were.

"Blame Lestrange for his rash decisions," Regulus said cooly. "He didn't even tell her where he was leading her." Although, in some ways, Regulus had to admit that he was at fault. He had been the one who left her on her own devices and watched as Lestrange made his move on her.

"Still," Dolohov looked around uneasily. People were beginning to trickle into the common room as the morning grew brighter. "It's a loose end. And you know how _he_ feels about loose ends." The identity of the _he_ was unquestionable. And Regulus knew how testy the Dark Lord could be. After all, he'd witnessed it firsthand at Malfoy Manor that summer, although of course he was not involved in any active capacity—not that Regulus wasn't doing anything to change that—

"She'll come around," Regulus said, his expression blank. Dolohov looked unconvinced.

"She will," Regulus repeated emphatically and Dolohov held up both his hands in mock surrender.

"Alright," he said. "If you say so." Regulus watched him leave the common room and head to the Great Hall for breakfast.

 _She will. She has to_.

* * *

Their eyes met across the Great Hall that morning, her gaze timid and his insistent. Somehow they didn't get a chance to talk until much later as they left Herbology late morning. She had to linger in the greenhouse a little after everyone else was gone due to a particularly nasty Wobbling Wisp.

"We have to talk," Regulus stated. Alex rubbed her forehead.

"I suppose," she answered glumly. Not a particularly encouraging sign.

"I should apologize," Regulus said stiffly. He tried to make his voice softer and his pose actually penitent, but for some reason his spine refused to bend. She looked back at him without saying anything.

"That is, when I say that I should—" his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. "I don't think I was wrong. Not completely."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

"About Lee," he continued reluctantly. "He does watch you. When he thinks you're not looking." And quite truthfully it wouldn't have bothered him _much_ if he saw someone else looking at Alex. It might have put him on guard, but he wouldn't simply lash out at the person. But the way Lee was watching Alex during Herbology made him want to steal a Beater's bat from the Quidditch team and smash it against his skull. There was fire in his eyes. Regulus didn't think it was a fire of passion or even romance, per se, but something seemed to burn when he watched her, and Regulus couldn't figure out what.

"Does it even matter?" Alex replied tiredly. "I barely know him, let alone like him."

Regulus sighed, feeling more and more like he was at fault. "I guess I know that," he muttered quietly. Alex crossed her arms in front of her and frowned at him.

"I'm sorry," Regulus muttered. "I should have trusted what you said."

Alex cleared her throat, looking painfully awkward. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "I should've been more aware of how—how you saw us." The last few words seemed to embarrass her even more than his apology. Regulus didn't know what he could say, either. She probably wouldn't take well the fact that he had already thought of how many children they would have—although even he drew the line at naming every single one of them. Alex would say something about them being fifteen years old and this being too early. Regulus bit the inside of his cheek.

For him fifteen was not early to start thinking. His parents had married after they were both thirty, it was true, and wizards tended to have longer lifespans than Muggles as long as they avoided extreme dangers, but these were not normal times—the Dark Lord was rising, and even as his supporter Regulus knew that life expectancy was abnormally short for those who joined his ranks. Some died before they were even twenty. It might be due to their being incautious, but Regulus suspected that some people were simply too unlucky. He couldn't rule himself out from that possibility just because he was a Black, like his mother liked to do. If he joined the Death Eaters at seventeen as he planned, he might have five years if he in combat, maybe a few more years if he stayed behind the scenes. That would depend on the Dark Lord himself. And that meant just another variable that he had to account for in his plans.

It did not occur to Regulus at fifteen what it might mean for Alex to lose a husband at twenty-three and be left alone in the world with a child and no one else. While he conceded to the possibility that Alex may feel reluctant about joining the Death Eaters, he never considered a future where they might be fighting on opposite sides. Even though he knew from countless observations and reason that friendships and relationships rarely lasted—that most of them had to end at some point or the other—he stubbornly refused to believe that it would happen between him and Alex. She was one person in his entire life that he chose to let in for himself and himself alone. They couldn't part—he needed her. And she had to choose the life that he'd chosen, because the alternative was too horrible; the consequences of resistance would be dire.

"No," Regulus said as they walked toward the castle. "I knew how you see us."

"You don't like it." It wasn't a question.

"I'm hoping that it'll change soon enough."

A frown appeared on her face, but she didn't even seem to realize that it was there. "Alright," she said vaguely, and Regulus might have found a more tactful way to probe into the answer had it not been for the dominant imperative swirling in his mind.

"Tonight," he said bluntly, "there's another meeting." The frown deepened.

"They're expecting you," he continued.

"Who're they?"

"You know." She didn't say anything.

"Alex."

"You said you'd cover for me." This wasn't a question, either.

"That was in January. There's only so much that I can do." Alex clenched her fists.

"I don't think so," she said quietly. Regulus stopped in his tracks.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not going," Alex said more loudly. "You can't make me." There was something of a petulant child in her tone, or so it sounded to Regulus, but at the same time there was something stoney and hard-set about her face that Regulus couldn't place. Had her face always been capable of carrying that particular expression? She stopped walking and looked squarely at him as well.

"And why not?"

"You hardly gave me time to think about the choices," she said quietly. "I'll choose when I'm sure."

Regulus felt annoyance rise in him despite his knowledge that her words were fair. "And when is this time?" He couldn't keep sarcasm out of his voice.

"I don't know."

"The meeting's tonight."

"And I didn't choose that."

"None of us did," Regulus spat out. "Sometimes the choice is already made for you. Like this case. You were sorted into Slytherin, and Lestrange made the choice for you. You're not in the position to choose." A strange light came into Alex's eyes and Regulus knew from experience that it wasn't love.

"Or what?" she asked quietly. Regulus tried to stand his ground against her glare.

"Retribution."

"From you?" now there was clear accusation in her voice. "What will you do, Reg? Kill me? Because you have no choice?"

"Don't be stupid," he snapped. That she would even utter such possibility enraged him more than her refusal to attend the meeting. Hurt her? As if that had ever been possible from the beginning. "The retribution will affect everyone. You. Me." He stabbed his finger into his chest for emphasis. " _Everyone_ , Alex."

"That's not fair."

"It's never going to be fair!" Regulus shouted. Then he looked away after seeing the expression on her face. "Damn it," he swore.

"Why does it have to be this way?" her voice was low, quiet. "No one told you to choose that side."

"I believe in what he does."

"No, you don't. You never believed in senseless killing."

Regulus narrowed his eyes. "Don't try to talk me out of this."

"Then don't try to talk me into this!" Alex was now flaring up, too, red blotches tinting her cheeks in a lively color that made Regulus want to run away from her and embrace her in his arms at the same time. "I don't believe in what Voldemort does. Maybe I don't object strongly enough to do anything about it right now, but that doesn't mean that I support his actions, either, and nothing could change that."

"Not even me?" Regulus asked quietly.

"What?" she sounded astounded, but not astounded enough. Because they both knew this question had been coming.

"Won't you change your mind for me?"

The question sounded more vulnerable than he had intended. Regulus had no intention of displaying how much it would hurt him personally if she chose something else. Alex crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked away.

"I could ask you the same question," she asked.

"Everything I have depends on this. My _family_ depends on this. My parents—imagine how much Mother will be devastated if she's kicked out of the polite society. The family standing in the social circles. Even Sirius—no one touches him now, because so far the Blacks have been supportive of this."

"So what—Alex, please become a Death Eater and kill innocent people for a cause you don't believe in because I can't stand to see my family harmed?" her eyes were becoming watery. "Was there ever a point when _I_ was considered part of that family, Regulus?"

"That's not fair," Regulus said quietly.

"Haven't you heard? It's never fair. Get that into your pretty little head, _prince_." She turned around and marched toward the castle, not even sparing him a last withering look. Regulus growled into the cool cloudy air.

This was just the beginning.

* * *

Needless to say, Alex failed to turn up at the meeting, and over the next few days Regulus attempted to catch her and reason with her (it had yet to occur to him that reason was his weakest weapon at that moment), but Alex displayed unexpected talent at evading people that she didn't wish to see. Quidditch practices were so frequent that he could only rarely spare time in the evening—never mind that he scheduled those practices—and most afternoons were spent studying for homework as fifth year began to pick up pace and drag its students by the throat. Even Snape, who was by far the most talented in Potions, seemed to find something confusing in Slughorn's lectures, and Potter actually took notes in Transfiguration class now. A part of him whispered that he didn't need Alex's pardon, or forgiveness, or whatever it was that he was seeking from her, but he knew that it was his habitual pride speaking and that he would regret it if things weren't back to how they used to be.

Regulus leaned back in his chair, looking carefully interested in Flitwick's lesson on advanced levitation. Alex of course refused to sit next to him and sat with Parkinson, who had managed to extract herself from Rosier—good for both of them, he thought with a bit of bitterness. Rosier was hardly worth Parkinson's Quidditch skills and Alex seemed much happier than the last time they'd talked. If they could call fighting talking.

If someone asked point blank if Regulus Black supported the Dark Lord's ideologies or his actions he would answer in a way that signaled affirmative without really putting in much substance. He knew that the Dark Lord's ideologies—not that they had ever been clearly defined and codified—and his actions sometimes contradicted each other, but he saw this contradiction as a necessary evil of the beginning of a grand new era. Change was by definition a messy chaotic thing, and one couldn't expect all logic and reason to survive in this messy chaotic process. Just how far he was willing to sacrifice logic and reason in the name of change was still unknown to him, but he trusted his mind enough to give him a wake-up call when things got out of hand. Then he would be, should be, able to intervene and right the wrong.

But his answer would still be ambiguous because he knew there were different ways of interpreting the same words and felt from the meetings that his interpretation was not always the common or popular one. Violence, for one (Regulus resented how Alex pointed this out of all things), had never appealed to him much, and for him it was another necessary evil of the war that had to be minimized, or abandoned at best scenarios, but some of his classmates were less weary of violence. Practicing the Unforgivables on insects and small animals was a natural part of the "initiation process" as they called it even though the Dark Lord had never come up with something like that as far as Regulus knew. So when the words said, 'purify the wizarding community of Muggles and Muggleborns,' Regulus read it as a peaceful, even voluntary expulsion (he had a theory of how this could be achieved, although the ideas were half-formed at best at this point) of Muggleborns from the wizarding community in order to ensure both party's safety. He did not understand how someone else could read it as simple extermination. Human nature had something to do with it, he vaguely thought, but _his_ nature did not enable him to understand the other interpretations.

Another point that he found hard to digest was the emphasis on magical ability, which many creatures including humans possessed. Spilling magical blood was waste, a lot of Death Eaters said, and Regulus agreed. But Muggleborns (as well as werewolves and trolls and house-elves and a hundred other creatures) had magical blood. It was simply that some were less orthodox. But lack of orthodoxy didn't mean that their blood was any less valuable—just for a different use. He didn't hate Muggleborns. He didn't hate anyone. But the situation of the wizarding society right now was such that an order had to be imposed—or wizards could be exposed to the Muggle world for good, and no Obliviation charm, however widely cast, could make every single Muggle forget about magic. Grindelwald with his ambition wanted to make sure that the Muggle world would fear him along with the wizarding society, but the Dark Lord was making no such mistake. Some wizards resented having to hide from Muggles, but it wasn't hiding that they had to do—they had to separate themselves, and if Muggles ever got a whiff of wizards, that separation would be impossible as Muggles would grow jealous of magic. Separation was key. Domination—Regulus didn't know. Desire for power and money was rather lost on the youngest child of one of the most powerful and ancient wizarding families.

A couple of rows below him Alex rubbed her eyes tiredly after staring at Flitwick's beard too hard and Regulus felt an unwilling smile on his lips.

If he had any other alternative to the current predicament he would take it—he would not like her. Someone else, anyone else, he would fall in love with if he could. Mongrel, his mother called Alex, and as unromantic as it may sound, Regulus used to have reservations—still had reservations—about Alex and her parents. And she, not knowing any of this, tried so hard to find who her father was, and as far as Regulus knew about the pureblood wizarding society—and his knowledge was unusually extensive—the name Wymond was completely foreign. So not a pureblood, presumably. This made him pause even though he knew that Sophia Wilson was from an old bloodtraitor family. It was true. Alex probably had mixed blood and his parents would not approve. That she was raised like a Muggle didn't increase any odds, either. It would be so much easier if she was more like—Rebecca Goyle, in more than one way. But he wouldn't like her like that and he knew this.

Most of the times it confused him, how much he _had_ to have her. It sometimes didn't even feel like a romantic interest as much as an impulse toward something. Something different—no, something brighter. Alex felt a little brighter than everything else. Someone who could contain her pain and still stand upright and shine on everyone else, who seemed to be able to retreat into herself from everything else and simply be in that small comfortable room by herself. She was one person he knew who was unaffected by the pureblood society that he grew up in and he did the only thing he knew to keep her with him, which was to try to bring her into that pureblood society and shield her from every negative, greedy influence.

"Yes, Mr. Abbott?"

"The importance of weight in levitation should be minimal, sir, as long as the spell caster focuses on the object and not levitation itself."

"Very good, Mr. Abbott! Five points to Ravenclaw!"

Around him students began to scribble something in their notes and Regulus realized that he should have been scribbling as well.

Charms was the last class of the day, and the practice after dinner went inordinately poorly. The Beaters somehow found their bats overly slippery, resulting in several accidents where the bat, rather than the Bludger, went flying toward the other players—with alarming accuracy that their usual playing would never have produced. The Chasers for their part grew annoyed and attempted to out-fly the Beaters, which resulted in their crashing into each other multiple times. Finally, Regulus had to signal a timeout when two of the Chasers, Willie and Nott (second and third years, Merlin save them) managed to somehow crash-land into the sandpit, each sporting a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist.

"Alright, that's it," Regulus snapped. "Practice over. Lestrange, Flint—take Nott and Willie to the hospital wing."

"Bad practice, was it?" the usual voice quipped from behind him and Regulus turned around irritably.

"It's not a good time, Parkinson," he said. Parkinson, to her credit, looked nonplussed.

"It's never a good time," she countered. "But I think today's practice proves what I've been telling you all along."

Regulus knew perfectly well what Parkinson had been saying all along. She had been insisting that girls should be allowed to play in the Slytherin Quidditch team since her arrival at Hogwarts. The nagging grew only more insistent when Regulus became the captain; it seemed that Parkinson thought their being in the same year would work in her favor. It wasn't that Regulus particularly disagreed with anything that Parkinson said—female players in the Holyhead Harpies were probably better than most major-league Quidditch players—but that didn't mean that he felt inclined to go against everyone who felt perfectly satisfied with the way things were, with male players only. It was altogether possible that fresh talent from female players may make the team stronger. But he wasn't sure if the cost of the disunity and the trouble this change would bring could be overcome by the said benefit.

So he said, "I told you, the decision's not practical."

"It is practical," Parkinson said fiercely, "and what's more important, it's the _right thing to do_."

Regulus looked at her ironically in the settling darkness of the evening. "I never knew that your sense of morality was so strong, Parkinson."

"Aren't you the one always expounding the values of integral components of the magical society? What about integrating gender into the equation, eh?" Parkinson's face was becoming paler and paler, which was the sign that she was actually getting more and more worked up. Regulus went over the options he had to get out of this argument quickly. He had prefect rounds, and this time he double checked that it was with Alex. If the night was quiet then maybe he could actually talk to her and make her hate him less…

"I don't have time for this," he said, quickening his pace toward the changing room. "I have rounds."

"Fine, be that way," Parkinson spat. "But one day you'll regret making this decision, Black." Unfortunately for Leila, Regulus had heard this ominous prediction too many times before to be really intimidated by it.

Regulus quickly changed into his school robes before jogging briskly to the Slytherin dungeons, where Alex was already waiting for him by the entrance.

"Alright," she said dispassionately. "Here's tonight's schedule. Apparently both of the Ravenclaw prefects couldn't make it today because of some dodgy potion, so the grounds need to be covered as well—what?" Alex realized that Regulus hadn't been listening to a word that she'd been saying.

"We need to talk," he said. Alex sighed.

" _We_ ," she said, "need to complete this round. _I_ have an essay due tomorrow and I need time to revise." She started to walk toward the Great Hall and Regulus followed quickly.

"No," Regulus said. " _We_ need to talk. You can't blame me for something that I can't change, Alex."

Alex made a face. "I'm not blaming you for anything."

"You've been avoiding me."

"I needed space."

"Couldn't that happen while still talking to me?" Regulus felt the frustration and isolation of the last few days seep into his words. It had been terribly lonely without the one friend he had…

"You have the next decade planned for us," Alex snapped. "So no."

"If that's what it's all about—"

"It's not about that."

"What is it about, then?" Her eyes sparked dangerously at this question, and Regulus got a feeling that he'd unleashed something that she was keeping bottled up inside of her without her knowledge.

"I don't know, Reg, maybe that everything seems to be moving forward and I'm not? Apparently we're supposed be a couple and be all— _physical_." She said the word as if it was the dirtiest, most disgusting collection of syllables that she had ever uttered. "And we're supposed to be thinking about Voldemort and joining or not joining and being together and I'm just trying to figure out what I want to do with my life and decide how many O.W.L.s I need to take the required N.E.W.T. classes because _I have to make a decision_ , because it's my _fucking future_ , and I'm supposed to keep up with classwork and be a prefect, which doesn't even make any sense to me, and meanwhile there's the whole thing with—" She stopped abruptly, as if the censoring part of her brain finally caught up with the words sprouting out of her mouth and commanded her muscles to clamp her mouth shut. Regulus decided that this was not the best time to talk about the names of their children. But her eyes looked oddly guilty and Regulus knew that he wasn't imagining that.

"What is it?" he asked. The frown on her face only deepened.

"No one," she answered defensively before her eyes widened. "I meant—"

"No _one_?" Regulus repeated, feeling oddly empty. No one. _Who_ was it?

"I clearly misspoke. Besides, it's not even a big deal—what was that?" Suddenly her attitude changed. Her back tensed visibly, and she began to stare hard into the darkness outside the window like a wolf watching its pray. He thought she even sniffed into the air.

"Stop trying to change the subject," Regulus snapped, there was no conviction in his voice. The way she stared out into the school grounds was alert, discerning—she wasn't trying to distract him.

"Damn it," she swore, and began to jump down the stairwell, skipping a staircase with each step. Regulus hurried after her.

"Alex, what is it?" he asked hurriedly.

"Someone's leading the first-years to the Forbidden Forest," she answered, huffing. Despite himself Regulus felt panic rise in him.

"Who's leading them there?" he asked.

"I don't know!"

"How many of them are there?"

"I couldn't tell—ten? The group wasn't small, if that's what you're asking."

"Merlin," Regulus muttered as they reached the Entrance Hall. In the dim moonlight—the moon was only half-full, and the night landscape was poorly lit due to the clouds—he could see a small hoard of people at the periphery of the Forbidden Forest, just before they were out of his eyesight. Regulus judged them to be well over a third of a mile, but they were there—a little cluster of dark school robes and shuffling feet that his Seeker's eyes could barely make out. Next to him Alex started.

"Wait," Regulus said. "You don't know what might be out there."

"That's a brilliant observation, Reg," Alex said sarcastically, "but if you haven't noticed, we haven't got time. I doubt that whoever's leading them there will kindly look after them once they reach the forest."

Regulus opened his mouth to argue that neither of them were familiar with the geography of the forest, but his words were stopped by a terrified, heart-stopping scream.

They both froze in their spots, staring into each other's faces.

The scream came again, not from the grounds but from the castle—from the way that they'd just left, from one of the higher floors. The sound was followed by soft sobbing that managed to travel down the grand stairwells of the Hogwarts castle. Regulus was torn between straining to hear more of what was happening and being frozen by the instinctive terror that the scream brought to his heart. Alex's face paled, her eyes wide in panicking alertness, and her hand automatically sought out the wand in her pocket. Meanwhile the first-years with their shuffling feet had disappeared from their view.

"Reg," she whispered, as if her voice was incapable of proper resonation, "we have to do something."

"Right," Regulus swallowed. "Right." He didn't want to confess to Alex at the moment that the sound coming from the castle sounded awfully familiar. He had heard it as a child—he had escaped the scene as soon as he encountered it, but it was nonetheless etched in his mind. Black Manor in the countryside. Less than seven years old. No one could forget the sound of someone being tortured. His legs felt rooted to the ground even though his mind screamed at him to do something.

"We have to split up," Alex continued to talk despite everything. How could she be so calm when her face and voice expressed nothing but fear? "You—you take Care of Magical Creatures, and you're faster. You should go after them—"

"And leave you here with—with that?" Fear rang in his voice and Regulus didn't have the strength to hide it. As to prove his point, another scream rang through the halls of Hogwarts, filling their hearts again with terror. Regulus felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. He couldn't take this anymore.

"I'll be fine. Go!" His body obeyed her orders even though his mind protested that he was leaving her alone in that terrifying danger. He legs sprinted on their own accord, and it seemed that his face almost welcomed the chill of the night air. The air was moist against his skin. So he ran, not to the danger in the dark, but from a different horror behind him.

* * *

A/N: This is the first chapter in Regulus' POV, and I'm not sure if it totally works—possibly because there are so many things that are contradictory about him. Let me know what you think! I'll also try to respond to the reviews that I've meanwhile received (sorry, I've been horrible on the lately).


	22. Chapter 22

Regulus ran as fast as his legs could carry him. His lungs protested, not used to the exercise—flying on a broom was much simpler in this sense. But he knew that the woods could be deceptive at night and that flying may be more hazardous than tripping over tree roots. So he ran and ran until he reached the edge of the forest, where mist already began to cloud his vision. Rain began to drizzle softly on his shoulders.

"Oi!" he shouted. "You lot! Are you there?" But the only sound he could hear was the panting of his breath. He swore.

Aside from the Groundkeeper's hut at least fifteen minutes away, there was no source of light nearby that he could call for help. The light from his wand only ensured his vision up to a point. Regulus shook his head. There was no time—Merlin knew what those first-years were thinking. And the more time he spent looking for them was time that Alex had to get herself into danger. He berated himself already for leaving her in the castle alone.

Suddenly he heard a rustling of leaves from the forest, far-off, and a bit of distant laughter.

There was no time to wonder why there would even be laughter. Regulus took a step into the dark woods, and then another.

* * *

It was easier for Alex to find the source of the crying, although the reason for this made the ease unbearably painful. Every once in a while came that terrible scream, and Alex felt her breath burn her throat as she climbed up the stairs as fast as she could. When she reached the sixth floor the screaming grew louder. Even more horrifying than the scream itself, Alex found herself grow accustomed to the sound, to the feel of her skin prickling in terror and anticipation, to the sudden alertness of mind that normally would have had her hyperventilating. She gripped her wand tightly. Possibly it was Peeves just playing an inappropriate joke. Or maybe someone had their foot caught between two stones. She had no idea how anyone would get into that position, but possibilities were limitless at this point.

The sound was coming from the classroom. Alex tried the door. It was locked.

" _Alohomora_ ," she tried, but the door still refused to budge. She heard something on the other side of the door—a snippet of voices, quiet sobbing, a bit of laughter followed by another blood-curling scream.

"Oi!" she shouted through the portal. "Open this door!" Someone inside swore loudly.

"HELP!" a high voice cried desperately. A girl, Alex realized with dread. There was a girl inside. "Help, _PLEASE_!" The cry was met with a dull thud and no one screamed anymore.

"That's it," Alex planted her feet in the ground. " _Bombarda_!"

There was darkness, only darkness, and he wasn't running anymore. Couldn't, to be more precise, because the sound of running blocked every other sound in his vicinity. He stopped to listen.

An owl hooting softly. Drops of rain falling occasionally onto the ground, splashing into a small puddle. Sound of the cloud moving in a fast oncoming storm. Any indication of life—he turned around and around, trying to find any source of sound that indicated that _someone_ was alive.

He couldn't even remember the way back to the castle.

"Rabastan," her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. Strangled. Breathless. Something twisted in her stomach. "What is this?"

"Alex." There was none of the playfulness that she had once seen in his eyes. "Thought it might be one of the other prefects." He looked relieved. Alex swallowed. There was nothing to feel relieved about this.

The small classroom was dimly lit and occupied by several sixth and seventh year Slytherins—and two younger students. They couldn't be past second year, by Alex's estimation. The boy was lying at one of the corners in the classroom. Full Body Bind curse, Alex judged. The girl was in the center of the classroom, her back shaking uncontrollably. There was a pool of blood on the floor that she was sitting on and Alex didn't know how it got there. The boys loomed over her menacingly, their wands out. Some of them were looking at Alex lazily, as though they were wondering what they should do to her. She could name every single one of them. Rookwood, Flint, Macnair, Nott—the older one—and Yaxley. Lestrange. He wasn't Rabastan anymore.

"What's going on," she asked flatly. The stocky seventh-year—Rookwood—came forward.

"Wilson," he said quietly, but his eyes had a hard glint. "We can make this easy for both of us, or this can be a lot more difficult."

"Is that a threat, Rookwood?" Her voice was impossibly calm.

"Depends," he answered. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not going to do anything," she said. "You're going to explain to me what's happening here, and they're both going to the Hospital wing." At her mentioning them the girl whimpered, and Lestrange promptly kicked her in the stomach—no, lower than the stomach. The girl sobbed into her robes.

"Shut up, Mudblood," Lestrange spat. Alex felt a new emotion that she hadn't felt that entire night. An emotion more terrifying than terror. Red, hot anger began to simmer in her heart at the sight of the girl lying helpless on the floor as several bigger boys laughed appreciatively at the pain.

"On the second thought," Alex said quietly, "you reverse whatever spell it is that you put on them and let them go. Then we'll have a talk."

"Talk?" Macnair laughed amusedly. "You obviously don't understand. Leave us alone. This is our business." He said the words authoritatively. A command. This only made her blood boil.

She strode to where the boy was and quickly muttered the counter-curse for the Body-Bind curse. He immediately tried to stand up and run toward his friend, but his legs failed him. The other boys sniggered.

"Listen to me," Alex said quietly, crouching low that the others would't hear. "Don't worry about her. I won't let anything happen to her, okay? _Listen_ to me," she forced the boy, who had turned away with obvious suspicion and distrust, to look at her in the face. "I'm trying to help you. You're a Gryffindor, aren't you? Run to McGonagall and tell her what's going on. I'll help your friend get to the Hospital Wing. Go!" Without waiting for him to react, she picked him up by the collar and dragged him to the door before throwing him into the empty dark corridor. The subsequent footsteps running away in panic told her that he was at least doing what he was told. The boys were watching her, dumbstruck.

"What are you doing?" Flint asked, outraged.

"Following procedure," Alex said cooly.

"Procedure? What procedure?" Flint's face began to grow purple like an aubergine. "That half-blood _dared_ to touch our bats and charm it slippery. He was going to pay."

Despite the situation Alex frowned in confusion. "Bat? What bat—"

"My Beater's bat!" Flint shouted. Even his ears were purple now. "That half-blood sneaked into the Slytherin Quidditch closet and made our bats slippery! Do you even know what Rabastan and I—"

"No, he didn't, he really didn't!" the girl suddenly said from the floor, pleading. She tried to sit up and face Alex, but her legs were broken. Alex felt bile rise from her stomach. "He didn't do anything, we were just watching the practice, I _swear_ —"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Lestrange said irritably. " _Crucio._ "

Alex realized why that scream had been so terrifying.

The girl writhed on the floor. Screaming. Just screaming. She had never seen a sight more repulsive or heart-wrenching. Beaten and vulnerable. She didn't know what to do. She didn't have an idea of what she should do. Stop it. Stop them from doing something. But she couldn't move a muscle.

"Stop it," she tried to say, but the croak was barely a whisper. The girl was sobbing again. Somehow Macnair heard her.

"Don't think so, Wilson," he said briskly. "Be a good girl and don't bother us further, hmm?" Then he winked at her, as if they were just two friends sharing a good secret joke. Then his face contorted immediately into violent hatred as he raised his arms to deliver the blow again.

" _Crucio_!"

" _Expulso_!"

She couldn't remember raising her wand. She couldn't remember choosing that spell. All she could remember was the sound leaving her throat, her mouth forming the shape of the word. The noise as Macnair was thrown in the air into the wall, smashing violently against the classroom board. Something cracked.

All eyes turned toward her.

"Wilson," Lestrange said quietly. "What do you think you're doing?"

* * *

He couldn't breath anymore. His legs were burning. He lost his sense of direction completely. Regulus stopped, bending over at his waist to catch his breath. In his head he ran several different scenarios in which this whole thing could pan out. Even if he did find the first-years, and the prospect seemed less and less likely, there was slim chance that they would find a safe passage back to the castle. Nearby something cackled, and he knew that it wasn't an owl. Sending a distress signal with his wand seemed to be an option, but not when he had yet to find the first-years.

Then he heard a distress signal of his own. A stressed, scared shriek.

" _HELP_!"

* * *

"Stop being stupid and leave us alone, Wilson," Flint said angrily, but his eyes flickered uneasily every few seconds toward the door, uncertain of their probability of being found. Others voiced their agreement, but they, too, seemed to be aware of the fact that they couldn't trust Wilson as far as Slytherin loyalties went. Macnair, whose back had met the wall with an alarmingly loud crash, sat lopsided on the floor. He wasn't moving.

"Take off whatever curse it is that you have on her," Alex said. "Then I'll leave you alone."

"Fuck this," Rookwood snarled. He raised his arm and pointed his wand straight at Alex. " _Impe_ —"

"What do you think you're doing?" Nott whispered furiously for the first time. " _Her_? Do you think _he_ would leave you alone if he found out?"

Rookwood smiled nastily, showing two rows of his straight, stony teeth. "Black doesn't _have_ to find out," he said. A look passed between him and Nott. Nott let go of his arm. Alex stood facing them helplessly. A fat lot of good the DADA classes did for her. They never taught their students if they could evade an Imperius charm. Only that they had to fight it with will and determination. She didn't know if she could. The only way that she could think of to stop him was to jinx him herself first, but no spell came to mind. With Macnair she'd reacted impulsively, but now…

"Now," Rookwood said, " _Imperi_ —"

But before he could finish the incantation, a jet of purple light shot from behind her ear and hit Rookwood clean in the chest. He fell to the floor with a dull thud.

"What—" Alex said, puzzled more than anything, and turned around.

" _You_?" Her puzzlement grew. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Henryk sighed. "Wilson, didn't anyone ever teach you never to turn your back to the opponent during a fight?"

"Wha—" she began again, but sensed in the periphery of her vision a jet of blue light approaching her. " _Protego_!" she shouted. The spell bounced off the protective shield and hit a nearby chair, which began to enlarge at an alarming rate.

"Oi!" she shouted. "Stop this nonsense!" But a hoard of spells came directly her way and as she cast another shield charm Alex realized that eventually one of those spells was going to hit the girl and hurt her. Henryk meanwhile managed to find a position next to her and deflect several curses easily. A part of her brain began to make calculations despite the current predicament. Why did he know how to deflect spells like that—why was he even here? For his part Henryk looked unnaturally calm.

"What's it going to be, Wilson?" he asked. "Are you going to fight, or not?"

* * *

"Help!" Kasia Parkinson shouted. "Help!"

"Be quiet, something will hear you!" Pen Mellier whispered. Next to him Gregory Yaxley whimpered, remembering the rustle of the leaves and an unsettling sound of someone hissing that had left them all shivering to the bones.

"What other choice do you think we have, Pen?" Kasia snapped back.

"Fighting's not going to get us anywhere," Jean Fourier said, sounding uncommonly reasonable for a first-year. "Let's just go over things one more time."

"Not that again, Jean," Augustus Gibbon said, exasperated. "We've been through this. The fifth-year prefects led us here."

"No, they didn't," Kasia Parkinson said crossly. "The girl—Alex—she hangs out with my sister a lot. I'm telling you, she doesn't walk like that."

"And Regulus—Regulus wouldn't leave us here. He wouldn't do that to us," Fanny Rowle said in a small voice. No one said anything to this, but their silent assent made the situation feel even worse. If the prefects hadn't led them, then who did?

"I think I just heard something again," Pen said, his voice quivering. Everyone swallowed.

"Oi!" They suddenly heard someone's voice from a distance. "Who's there?"

"We're here!" Kasia shouted. "We're here!"

"You don't know who that is!" Fanny protested.

"And what, being left here is a better alternative?" she shot back, trying to mask her own fright.

"Light your wands, I can't see you!" The voice was closer, but not enough.

"We don't know how!" Jean apparently agreed with Kasia on her diagnosis.

"Lumos!" The voice said. It was male. Not very old. The first-years looked around uncertainly before raising their wands.

" _Lumos_ ," they whispered together, and the tips of their wands glowed faintly.

"We did it," Gibbon said disbelievingly. They looked around, feeling an abnormal amount of relief at a source of light that allowed them to actually see each other's faces. The rustling of leaves grew stronger and they all turned toward the direction of the sound, raising their wands wearily. A figure emerged from the woods, stumbling rather ungracefully on a tree root before righting himself by leaning against a nearby vine.

"There you are," the boy said, relief evident in his tone. Astounded, the first-years stared at the newcomer.

"Regulus?" Pen whispered.

"Me," Regulus Black, the fifth-year prefect and the Slytherin Quidditch star, was panting. They could see several cuts on his smooth, pale cheeks. "We have to get out of here."

"But you led us here!" Fanny cried hysterically. "You and that girl Wilson led us here!"

Regulus scrunched his brows together in confusion. "What?" he said, looking around the group for confirmation. The looks that he got back all shared Fanny's look of accusation and mistrust.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Regulus said, trying to sound as assuring and calming as he could despite the panic he felt. They were in the Forbidden Forest. No clear way back. And Alex was in the castle, dealing with a possible torturer. The night simply couldn't get any worse. "But it's not safe here. We can all agree on that, can't we? We have to get out of here as fast as we can."

As to prove his point, a hiss came again from the darkness above. The first years automatically cowered near him and Regulus felt his back tense. Something was breathing. Making signals. He held out his arm up to the sky to better see what was up there. The sight made his breath catch in his throat. He looked down at his hands, which had steadied him when he stumbled. The thing he suspected was already there.

Cobwebs.

* * *

"You, whoever you are—back off. This isn't your business," Lestrange said irritably.

"Come on, Rab. He's the Hufflepuff Beater," Flint said, sounding almost jovial. "The duffers. We don't need to worry about him. Or her, for that matter. Let's just get it over with."

"Well?" Henryk, who seemed to have heard almost none of what the two were saying in front of them, asked Alex almost challengingly. But before Alex could say anything—to be honest, she wasn't sure what she wanted to say, having never participated in anything akin to a duel—Flint sent a hex her way that she barely managed to dodge.

"That's it," she snapped angrily. She was done with everyone being sadistic arseholes, and it didn't look like the girl's condition was getting any better by stalling. Next to her she felt rather than saw Henryk grin. At some point during the conversation he had managed to draw out his wand as well.

Dueling was a completely foreign experience, and Alex was certain that she was quite bad at it, although it wasn't as if she had time to contemplate her skills in dueling. Most of her focus was on Flint and Yaxley, who were staring her with hungry intensity that should have surprised her. When they sent a curse her way, she dodged—the shield charm was too risky because she didn't know how the curse would bounce off. She tried to aim for their torso—the biggest part—with a Stunning charm (to be entirely honest she wasn't that well-versed in curses in general, and the Stunning charm was recommended by the Ministry of Magic in dire situations where dueling was absolutely necessary—or so the _Daily Prophet_ reported), but aiming was difficult when she had to dodge spells from two people. Next to her Henryk solidly held his ground, and an uncertain glance at his direction gave Alex an impression that he was almost bored. _Bored_. And he was dueling Nott and Lestrange and an injured Rookwood simultaneously. He looked contemplatively at his opponents as if they were a particularly bland set of gargoyles and he was trying to decide where he should place them in his garden.

"How _do_ you do that?" she asked loudly. A particularly nasty hex from Yaxley shattered the window behind her.

"Do what," Henryk said.

"I don't know!" Alex shouted back. The older boys thankfully seemed too preoccupied with hexes to listen to their conversation. "Hold down the fort?"

Henryk didn't say anything for a while. "Are we maiming, or just—"

"Of course we're not maiming!" Alex shouted, outraged.

"I'm pretty sure that _they_ are," Henryk said skeptically. With a flick of the wand Rookwood suddenly fell to his knees and began crawling on the floor. His body grew smaller until an infant stared at both of them from the ground. His robes, now too large for the infantile body, hung about the fat torso like a scarecrow's pajamas. From his small, puckered mouth he began to bawl.

Despite the situation Alex had to grin. "Reverse Aging charm," she said. "That _is_ a good one." Unfortunately, Flint used that moment of distraction to send a purplish flame her way that she failed to dodge in time. It only grazed her forearm, but it was more than enough to disarm her. She clutched her arm in pain.

"What are you going to do, Wilson?" Flint taunted her from across the room. "You're defenseless now." He raised his wand to deliver the final blow. Yaxley flicked his wand, and her wand flew toward his outstretched hand. Instead of panic and fear, Alex felt a maniac excitement spread across her body, making her limbs feel much lighter than they ever were. She grinned caustically.

"What I should have done long ago, Flint," she said. She dodged Flint's next hex and ran towards him heads on. Flint, who had been expecting many reactions, did not anticipate this particular move and watched open-mouth as she pulled him closer by the collar of his robes before punching his face. Something cracked, but Alex didn't feel it in her knuckles. Flint staggered back a few steps, and his wand fell from his hand.

Yaxley abandoned his laissez-faire position and took his aim, but her reflexes were faster for once. Her body knew what it was doing even when her mind told her to run away from the wandpoint as fast as possible; she grabbed the upheld arm and twisted it at a vicious angle in front of him. When he bent over in pain, she jabbed at his side with her free elbow, making him cough and kneel on the floor. She then proceeded to tackle his leg and twist it before pushing him hard onto the floor. His leg sprained as his torso hit the hard surface and Yaxley let out a pained cry.

But Flint wasn't done; one hand holding his bloody nose, he advanced on her with a glowering look. Alex ran toward him and delivered a quick punch on the uninjured side of his face before he could do anything to her. She proceeded to kick him hard in the groin, making him double over with a groan. Quickly locating the wand that Yaxley had dropped, she pointed it at both of them and cried, " _stupefy_!" A red jet of light hit them straight in their chest and both of them fell to the floor, unconscious. She stood over their bodies, panting for breath. Adrenaline still coursed to every end of her limbs.

"I thought we weren't maiming," Henryk said from behind her.

Alex spun around. Rookwood was still brawling on the floor, and the girl had cowered away from him as far as she could as if he were a diseased rat. Lestrange's tongue was stuck to the ceiling with the rest of his body, and Nott pirouetted around the classroom while humming a foreign tune.

She nodded toward Nott. "What's up with him?"

"Oh, nothing terrible. He just thinks he's dancing with the most beautiful woman on earth." Henryk considered. "Which may sound like a reward, but the delusion's going to get stronger until he does something—well, highly regrettable." True to the prediction, Nott approached the broken window and stuck his torso out into the night air before trying to balance his body on the windowsill. His body swayed dangerously and Alex pulled him from his back.

" _Stupefy_ ," she said, holding her wand to his throat, and Nott fell to the floor like a dead heap. From nearby the girl whimpered and Alex realized what she had forgetten.

"Shit. Shit. Sorry," she said, crouching near the girl. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" The girl shook her head but didn't say anything. Her face was covered in tears.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Alex said soothingly. "What's your name? House?"

The girl sniffled. "Elena… Rondby," she said with difficulty. "I'm in Hufflepuff."

"I know her," Henryk said. "Second-year. Do you mind if I take a look at what happened to your ribs, Elena?" He said kindly, but Elena looked back at him distrustfully. Remembering how she had felt about males in general after her encounter on Halloween when she was eleven, Alex couldn't blame her. She put a reassuring arm around her and rubbed her shoulders. Elena didn't seem to mind this much.

"Alright, then," she said bracingly. "We'll take you to Hospital wing, and then we can talk to Professor Sprout about what happened—"

"Miss Wilson, could you please explain what on Merlin's name happened here?" A sharp voice rang through the classroom and they all looked up from their position to find the imposing face of McGonagall staring down at them disapprovingly. Behind her the Gryffindor boy from before peeked out timidly before his face brightened from seeing his friend alive. Even after everything that had happened, Alex felt a wave of dread and guilt. She'd just hurt several students. On purpose. Granted, the reason for her actions seemed sufficient back then, but under McGonagall's stern gaze, she wasn't so sure. From above Lestrange began to let out a violent stream of sounds.

"Mr. Lestrange, kindly do rejoin us on the floor," McGonagall said, her voice acidic.

"That's my fault, Professor. He doesn't have his wand. _Blabinsky_ ," Henryk said brightly and waved his wand at Lestrange, who unceremoniously fell to the floor. He was unconscious. Alex was certain that a simple counter-spell wouldn't knock out Lestrange, a burly Beater, but she chose not to say anything—and neither did McGonagall, who continued to look at them disapprovingly.

"What happened here?" she asked again. Alex hesitated, and the Gryffindor boy stepped up.

"Professor, these Slytherin boys made us follow them after dinner to this classroom. They were—they used the Body-Bind curse on me, and then they—they—" His eyes widened in terror at the memory and Elena drew instinctively close to herself, curling up into a ball. Alex tried to pat her back soothingly, but she didn't think that anything could help her at this point.

"Professor," Alex said. "We can discuss the details later. When I found them here, Elena was hurt. I tried to make my housemates listen, but they weren't willing, so I sent your student to you. And—"

"And then I found all of them here," Henryk said, his voice still bright and blameless. "I tried to help Alex stop her housemates, but they wouldn't listen, and I got a bit carried away." He scratched his neck in the most classically abashed way possible and Alex looked at him, uncomprehending. "I got disarmed at one point and things got a bit more physical. I thought it was the best thing to do at the time. I'm sorry." MacGonagall looked at him with cool eyes, and Alex couldn't figure out whether she believed him or not. To her surprise, Elena spoke up from the floor.

"It's true," she said, and her voice was clear despite her sobs. "But he was really just trying to protect me, Professor. And Alex. They were—they were—" The memory was a bit too much for her and she began to cry in earnest again. MacGonagall's gaze softened, but Alex could see something much steelier and angrier building beneath the surface. She was angry—as angry as Alex had been when she first found Elena.

"Mr. Higgins, please escort Miss Rondby to the Hospital Wing," she said curtly, and Higgins nodded before carefully approaching his friend. Elena didn't seem to find him scary, however, and with some difficulty she pulled herself up and began to limp to the Hospital Wing, leaning on her friend.

"Professor," Alex said, "I'm afraid that some of her ribs might be broken. We should probably—"

"Madam Pomfrey would take care of Miss Rondby's injuries, Alex, better than any of us could," MacGonagall said crispy, but Alex noticed that she was calling her by her first name. "What you should do is to explain what you were doing out of beds past curfew."

"Erm," Alex said. "I don't know about Lee here, but I was doing—" she stopped mid-sentence as she realized to her horror why she had to come to this floor on the first place.

"Alex?" MacGonagall prompted her.

"Regulus," Alex whispered softly. "I have to help him."


	23. Chapter 23

Regulus Black was not the one to make statements.

Mostly he disliked the definitive nature of them, which implied that the stated fact was immutable. Statements such as "this is the best butterbeer I have ever tasted," "he is the best Keeper in England," and "he's just a second son of Black" were all statements that he didn't care for. He may just as well encounter a different brand of butterbeer that may taste even better, and the skills of Quidditch players seemed to change with each season. And the last bit—well, his feelings about being the second son had always been a mixed bag of trick and treats anyway. Best not to say anything about that.

So it was with some resolution that he decided he may have just encountered the biggest threat to his life in the Forbidden Forest.

"Stick close together," he found himself saying. "Hold on to each other and don't let go. We can't afford to lose people."

"What is it?" Gregory Yaxley whispered, cowering behind Regulus. To be honest, Regulus wished that he had someone to cower behind as well.

"Acromantula," Regulus said grimly. "We've just arrived at the heart of their nest."

"What does that mean?" Jean Fourier asked, his voice quivering. "What can we do?"

"Wands out," Regulus said. Around them the sound of hissing grew, but Regulus still couldn't see anything visible moving above them.

"Keep sharp," he continued. "Acromantula can't see. They sense things and rely mostly on hearing and smell."

"That's reassuring," Kasia Parkinson said in a small voice. Despite the situation Regulus grinned.

"Slowly step backwards," Regulus whispered. "I don't think—"

"Who dares to invade our nest?" _Something_ growled from above. It sounded nothing like the hisses they'd heard, but the grating voice was no more comforting.

"Students of Hogwarts," Regulus said, trying to sound more confident than he was feeling. Next to him Fourier shivered. "We got lost in the forest—we come in peace. Who are you?"

More hissing came from above, but Regulus couldn't see any movement. He had a feeling, however, that the arachnids weren't simply waiting for them to waltz out of their nest. He nudged the students to keep moving.

"Aragog," the acromantula finally responded, but didn't say anything else. Regulus gave the first-years a slight push to indicate that they should still be walking.

"Aragog," Regulus repeated. "I apologize for disturbing your home. We didn't mean to come here. If you could just point us the way out—"

Aragog began to cackle—that is, if spiders could cackle. It sounded like a thousand steel beads rolling against a rough, rocky surface. Unsettling, to say the least.

"The way out?" he repeated. "The arrogance of the wizards. You don't think we would just let fresh meat walk away from us, do you?" Regulus took it as a rhetorical question.

"With all due respect," Regulus said, "harming Hogwarts students doesn't sound like the best line of diplomacy for those residing in the Forbidden Forest." As soon as he spoke Regulus realized that he made a mistake. The sound of hissing grew louder.

"Diplomacy?" Aragog seethed. "Let me tell you a story, _boy_ , about diplomacy. I was raised inside a castle by a kind student until the headmaster expelled him and me from the castle for dangerous activity."

"Well, human-eating does fall under the category of dangerous activity," Kasia Parkinson muttered before several students elbowed her. "Oh," she said in realization.

"I didn't hunt humans," Aragog hissed, "because I was trying to live amongst them. Now I'm making no such foolish mistake… and as you so smartly implied, the life in the forest is rough indeed..." he trailed off, as if his own words made him contemplative of their fate. Regulus on the other hand felt no philosophical inclination at this point.

"Remember what I said about not letting each other go?" he whispered to the first-years. They nodded.

"Good. Run _."_ Several students frowned.

"Wait, what?" Augustus Gibbon said.

"I said _RUN_!" Shouting seemed to make things clearer, as first-years began to speed toward the direction of the place that Regulus had emerged from. Regulus followed the immediately, but he also heard how his shouting had shaken Aragog out of his reverie.

"After them!" he screeched. "I don't want any of them getting out of here! After them!"

" _Arania Exumai_!" Regulus exclaimed, pointing blindly into the darkness. He heard something hit the ground with force and decided that it must have been enough.

As he ran for his life, he somehow began to feel glad that he had sent Alex after several sadistic torturers.

* * *

"Miss Wilson, are you telling me that you and Mr. Black had split up during your prefect duties?" MacGonagall's gaze was once again stern and disapproving, but it didn't matter to Alex what on Merlin's underpants MacGonagall thought of her right now. "You know that that is against the rules."

"The Ravenclaw prefects who were supposed to canvas the grounds backed out at the last minute because of dodgy potion, and the Heads didn't want to stand in for them," Alex said. "We had to split up. Elena was screaming and the first-years were entering the Forbidden Forest—Professor, if Regulus still hasn't turned up, _we don't have time for this_." MacGonagall looked wordlessly at her face for a few seconds.

"Very well," she said finally, "I shall alert our groundkeeper Hagrid about the situation. He is best equipped to deal with whatever they may encounter in the forest. _Meanwhile_ ," MacGonagall looked emphatically at both of them, " _both_ of you are to remain inside the castle. As you have noted, Miss Wilson, the forest is a dangerous place, and neither of you are allowed to go in— _under any circumstances_. Mr. Lee, we'll discuss the detentions you'll receive when the business is over." Stiffly, MacGonagall walked out of the classroom, swishing her emerald cloak behind her. Alex gaped after her before jumping to her feet. Henyrk caught her by her sleeves.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Going to the forest, obviously." Alex shook her arm angrily, but somehow Henryk managed to grasp her wrist—a bit too firmly. Alex stared irritably at him.

"What are _you_ doing?" she shot back.

"Stopping you, obviously," Henryk said. "It's like MacGonagall said, isn't it? You can't go in there by yourself. It's too dangerous."

"Look, MacGonagall's many things, but she's not going to hurry just because a Slytherin prefect ran after several first-years. She's going to go through every single procedure necessary before going in, and like _you_ said, it's too dangerous in there. Anything could happen to him. Now let me _go_ ," she said fiercely, trying to shake his grasp off again. She failed.

"Black can take care of himself," Henryk said, his face strangely empty.

"Then why isn't he back?" Alex shot back. She felt her eyes prickling with nascent tears, and she bit the inside of her cheeks to keep them from falling. "If he were in my place, I know that he would do the same for me," Alex said, and it wasn't until that moment that she realized how true they were. Regulus did have many faults. But not caring for her wasn't one of them. How stupid she'd been to think that she could simply be angry at him all her life. She couldn't. "I have to go. Don't try to stop me." She managed to shake him off and began to run down the corridor to the nearest staircase. Footsteps followed her.

"Wait!" Henryk shouted. "Wait a minute."

"What?" Alex stopped, frustrated.

"If you just run down the staircases to the Entrance Hall, MacGonagall's going to see you," he said, sounding impossibly reasonable. "There's an unused passage on the fifth floor which should lead you to the dungeons. It might be easier to sneak out that way." Alex looked at him, befuddled.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked.

Henryk made a face, and it was a very long time before Alex could understand the meaning of his expression.

"Does it matter?" he snapped. "Fifth floor. Turn right at the first corner." Alex nodded and took off before realizing that he was still following her.

"What?" she asked.

"Do you really think that I'll just let another student walk into the Forbidden Forest by herself? Give me some credit," he muttered the last part before pushing her aside to go in the front. Alex stared after him dumbfounded before she shook herself upright again. For Regulus.

* * *

 _Acromantulas moved surprisingly quickly for something that had eight legs_ , Regulus mused, trying to distract himself from the severity of the current predicament. The first-years were slow—certainly slower than him, and much slower than the acromantulas, who were gaining on them with alarming speed. _You'd think with that many legs they would get tangled up. But no_.

" _Arania Exumai_!" he shouted again, pointing at the hoard of spiders behind them. The ones closest to him were thrown back a couple of feet, but Regulus knew that the rest of the family was big enough to eat all of them and some more.

"Run faster!" he shouted at the first-years, who were panting painfully.

"We can't!" Gregory Yaxley complained. "It's too hard!"

"Or else you'll die," Regulus snapped. "Does that change things for you?" Based on Gregory's lack of response, Regulus assumed that it had.

Regulus thought about his options. Sending a distress signal—done, at least three times during their run from the acromantulas. Outrunning the first-years and bringing himself to safety—possible, maybe, but irresponsible. Letting the first-years get a head start by distracting the acromantulas—ah. At that moment he couldn't think of an alternative.

"Keep running!" Regulus shouted, but he began to slow down his pace.

" _Arania Exumai_!" he aimed at the nearest set of acromantulas, repelling them a few feet away from him. He had completely stopped, and the scared breathing of the first-years wasn't audible to him anymore. But that was good, and he hoped that Alex had warned someone about students entering the forest.

"Well, well, well," Aragog cackled again. "So you've decided to play the hero, didn't you?" He was surrounded on all sides by the acromantulas. Regulus could hear them baring their fangs for consumption. Thankfully, it seemed that they had stopped the pursuit of first-years, and that was all that mattered right now…

"You're misinformed," Regulus said cooly. "I'm a Slytherin. We don't play heroes—Gryffindors do enough of that already."

"Slytherin, eh?" If Regulus didn't know any better, he would say that he was licking his lips—but spiders didn't have lips. "Never liked them."

 _Of course not_ , thought Regulus sardonically. _No one ever does_.

* * *

"Where did you last see them?" Henryk whispered. Alex peeped from one of the ground floor columns that decorated the Entrance Hall, her attention having been engaged in checking their backs to check that no one had been following.

"Over there, where the trees form a kind of a pointy hat shape..." Alex trailed off when she saw the look that Henryk was giving her. "Oi, a pointy hat shape is a perfectly understandable geographical terminology," she said defensively.

"Do you mean the area under Aquila?" He asked, pointing at the constellation. Alex blinked.

"I guess," Alex said. She did better in Astronomy than most students, but that meant little when most of them couldn't care a knut about the lunar cycle. "Maybe just a tad bit to the left."

" _Which_ left?" Henryk muttered, but he sprinted off toward the direction that Alex had just pointed out without waiting for an answer. Startled at his sudden departure, Alex sprang after him in a hurry.

"Wait!" Alex tried to be as discreet as she could while shouting. "Wait!"

Henryk didn't slow down his pace and Alex found out that the boy could _run_. "I thought we didn't have any time to lose," he said, not even huffing. Alex, on the other hand, was rendered entirely useless under thirty seconds.

"We don't," she managed to let out. They'd already reached the edge of the forest, and as far as Alex could see, everything looked the same—trees and more trees. Before she could point out this obvious difficulty, however, Henryk bent over to the ground and began to _sniff_. Alex paused in confusion.

"What are you doing?" she eventually asked. He didn't even answer.

"This way," he said instead, grasping her wrist without permission and pulling her into the darkness with him.

"I can follow without you pulling me, you know," Alex said spottily, and her voice sounded snobbish even to her own ears. Henryk didn't take the hint and only tightened his grip. He walked a few feet, paused, stood still, and closed his eyes. Alex supposed that in the darkness it barely mattered if one's eyes were closed or not.

If she were being frank, she didn't have the first clue as to how she could have begun. She knew that just going into the forest was a mission that was bound to turn out unsuccessful. But enlisting help from the groundkeeper or any of the professors would have taken too much time. The best option that she could think of was to shout into the woods until someone answered, but that was bound to get her discovered as well as turn out unsuccessful. So in the back corner of her mind she was thankful that Henryk was here and seemed to know what he was doing—even though she herself didn't understand a thing. But this was a very subliminal part of her cognitive reasoning and she was mostly very irritated at having to listen to a boy who wasn't even very nice.

The said boy breathed in the night air.

"They headed east," he muttered, and began to pull them in a direction that Alex guessed was eastward.

"Henryk?" she said quietly after a few minutes of trekking. Henryk seemed to be able to sense whenever there was a sudden dip in the ground, or any other kind of obstacle that might sprained their ankles. He was still pulling her by her wrist, but his grip had become gentler.

Henryk stood still for a few seconds again and traced the ground with his fingers before standing up slowly. He didn't say anything to her for a whole minute, cautiously finding his steps on the forest ground, and Alex was wondering if he hadn't heard her when he finally responded by saying, "yes?"

"How did you know?" she asked. "Where they went?"

"Answering you would just slow us down."

"Right," Alex said, feeling oddly chastened. She had been the one who insisted that they come to the forest to search instead of remaining in the castle. She fiddled with the wand in her pocket nervously.

"We should be near," Henryk said after a while, leaning his head against a tree. "The trail's been getting stronger for a while now, but something's muddled." He frowned. "They might have crossed paths—wait." His back suddenly tensed like a cat that had its sight on a prey. "Do you hear that?"

Alex was about to retort that the only thing that they could hear in the damn forest was their own footsteps when she realized that there really was someone making sounds in the distance—it sounded like murmurs from where they were standing, but distance could have simply made the sound faint.

"Come on," Henryk said forcefully, pulling at her wrist again. This time she didn't complain.

The voices grew louder and louder until they reached a clearing, where the moonlight shined brightly on the grassy surface despite the dense forest around it. Huddling in the middle were the first-years, looking wary and exhausted. When she and Henryk stepped into the moonlight their heads turned instantly, as though spending too much time in the forest had given them a sixth sense that warned them against external threats. Alex held up her hands to show that she meant no harm.

"Alex!" Someone in the group suddenly cried out and a short bob of brown hair ran towards her. Her horror increased when she recognized the owner. Leila's sister.

"Hey, Kasia," she said. "Are you okay?"

Kasia nodded, but something in her eyes stopped Alex from collapsing onto the ground with relief. There was fear there, and she didn't know why… "You have to find him," Kasia said. "Regulus. There were—giant spiders? He made us run in front of him and disappeared into the forest." The stability in the girl's voice should have made anyone proud of her despite the situation, but Alex only heard the words at the moment.

"Regulus?" she repeated emptily.

"That idiot," Henryk said, sounding more irritated than anything else. "Kasia," he said, crouching down to look at the girl at the eye level. "Where did you last see him?"

"In the forest, in that direction." she pointed uncertainly at one direction by a large stone. "It's been a while, though…."

"That should be enough," Henryk said reassuringly before standing up to face Alex. "You have to lead them out of here," he muttered in a low voice. "I'm guessing she was talking about acromantulas, and they tend to travel in families—sooner or later one member will find them and then you'll all be in danger."

"But Regul—"

"I'll go look for him," he said firmly, looking straight at her face. "I know how to navigate the forest, and the students recognize you more than they recognize me."

"But it's dangerous there," Alex repeated, feeling powerless. "And I don't know the way back."

He shook his head and reached into his robes. "Here," he said, handing her his wand. Alex looked at it uncomprehendingly. "Take my wand. I've been using a tracking charm—it'll guide you on your way back. The incantation is _revelio ariadno_. See?" Sure enough, when he waved his wand a golden thread appeared dimly in front of them that went back to the way they had emerged from. Alex looked at it for a while, considering.

"Alright," she said finally. "Then take my wand." She took it from her robes. "You'll probably need it more than I do." For the first time that night Henryk looked uncertain. He regarded her wand silently.

"Is that ebony?" was his unexpected question.

"Yes," Alex said impatiently. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not right now," he muttered, taking her wand gingerly as if it was made out of crystal. "I hope that it won't reject me," she heard him mutter to himself. But before she could ask anything else he sprinted toward the direction that Kasia had pointed out moments ago. Alex watched him go before turning toward the first-years.

"Alright," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Let's go."

The way back was much bumpier and longer than Alex remembered it being, but the first-years followed silently without a single word of complaint. The golden thread seemed to emanate from the tip of the wand and pull her physically forward as if it had a conscious desire to save all of them. Soon enough she began to see the distant light of the castle and the clear ground between the forest and their warm beds. Alex regarded the plain sight.

"Look," someone from the group said. "It's MacGonagall." Sure enough, the upright figure moved stiffly toward where they were standing. Behind her a much bulkier fellow followed accompanied by a large dog.

"Miss Wilson." MacGonagall's eyes were narrower than a cat's slits. "Do explain what you are doing here."

"We went to look for them, Professor," she said. "And we found them."

"I see," MacGonagall still sounded very icy. "And where is Mr. Lee?"

As if on cue, Henryk emerged from the forest at this precise moment, looking slightly more bedraggled than when he'd left. He was panting faintly as if he was experiencing shortness of breath (somehow Alex didn't think it was possible) and his expression looked wild. On his back Regulus' body was slung. His arms hung about limply from Henryk's shoulders, and his head lolled back when Henryk came to a sudden stop—he was unconscious.

"Reg!" Alex exclaimed, and she never knew that she was capable of producing such a voice. "What—what's wrong with him?"

"Acromantula venom," Henryk said without bothering to acknowledge MacGonagall's presence. He laid Regulus' body slowly onto the ground and began to check for his vital signs. "The creatures were trying to wrap him in their web and carry him back to their nest when I found him. He'll be alright if he gets medical attention—preferably soon."

"Mr. Lee," MacGonagall sounded as if someone was forcing her to choke down cubes of ice. "Did you just say _acromantulas_?"

"Yes, Professor," Henryk said without taking his eyes of the unconscious prefect. "I was under the impression that the younger students were led directly to their nest." At his words MacGonagall turned toward the first-years, who cowered under her blazing gaze.

"Are any one of you capable of explaining this incredible stupidity?" she said.

"Professor," Alex began quietly, "could we postpone getting the records straight until everybody receives medical attention? I think Reg's lips are blue, and Yaxley sprained his ankle."

"Oh, that's alrigh'," the giant figure said for the first time, and Alex remembered seeing him around the castle grounds in the past. "You don' have ter worry at tha' stage. 'S when his fingers turn black tha' you have ter star' worryin'."

"That happened, too," Henryk said inconsequentially. The giant scratched his head.

"Alrigh'," he said. "Then we should prob'ly ge' goin'." This assessment seemed to convince MacGonagall, and she wordlessly levitated Regulus' body before beginning to march toward the castle. Alex followed mutedly, urging the first-years to follow as well by nudging them on their shoulders. Henryk followed some paces behind, talking to the groundkeeper. The large dog wagged his tail and followed him happily.

The castle lights were like blares to their eyes that had accustomed themselves to the dimness of the forest.

"Poppy," MacGonagall said crisply. "Mr. Black needs immediate attention—he was poisoned by acromantula venom. Mr. Yaxley has a sprained ankle."

"My, my," Madam Pomfrey said with widened eyes. "What happened?" Her eyes sought the crowd of students accusingly, as if every single one of them had conspired to inject the Slytherin prefect with acromantula venom. Alex rubbed her eyes tiredly. The incidents of the entire night began to catch up with her as she looked around; Lestrange was sleeping on the farthest bed on the West wing, accompanied separately by Macnair, Yaxley and Flint. There was a rather childlike body lying next to Flint that Alex assumed was Rookwood, but the body had none of Rookwood's usual mean looks. Nott, whom Alex had assumed would be alright, was there as well. Elena was also sleeping, but at the corner farthest away from where the boys were; even in her sleep she turned several times, murmuring something uneasily. Henryk looked nonplussed around the room; no one would guess, if they weren't told, that he had just went into the depths of the Forbidden Forest and came back after dueling three people singlehandedly. Alex envied his stability.

"The rest of you," MacGonagall was saying, "will follow me. Yes, that means you two as well, Miss Wilson and Mr. Lee." She looked sharply at both of them before leaving the room with the characteristic swish of her cloak. The first-years followed mutedly, but Alex looked at Madam Pomfrey anxiously.

"Will he be alright?" Alex asked worriedly, but she merely gave her an annoyed look.

"Out, haven't you heard?" she said. "I'll need to call in Professor Slughorn from his office. Merlin knows how grumpy he gets when someone disturbs him from sleep." She didn't look very excited about the prospect of playing the role of the said disturber. Alex decided to back away and followed MacGonagall's conspicuous, even footsteps.

Alex had visited MacGonagall's office on occasions—it was usually to inquire about the class materials or to discuss essay assignments—but she had never entered it as a part of a guilty party. It was a novel experience, to say the least; the brightly lit office looked darker, the shadows in the corners longer, MacGonagall's hat even pointier. Next to her Henryk stood silently with a small smile that accepted every harsh word from MacGonagall with graceful good humor. Alex, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel a bit sour. She had done what she thought was the best thing to do at the time, and never did she have any ill intent. To MacGonagall's credit, however, Alex noticed that she seemed less upset about them dueling the Slytherins than about them going into the Forbidden Forest by themselves without protection. After listening to the first-years give their reports, she regarded all of them silently.

"And you are certain that it was Mr. Black and Miss Wilson who led you into the forest," she asked Fourier. He nodded fervently.

"While you and Mr. Black had just started your rounds," MacGonagall continued, before thoughtfully gazing into the distance.

"Perhaps it's just a nasty prank, Professor," Henryk said. "These things are known to happen."

"Yes, but the intent behind the action seems far too strong to be simply dismissed as a joke, Mr. Lee," said MacGonagall, and Alex could tell the conundrum she was facing; if the action had not been a joke, than it would mean that someone seriously meant to do the Slytherin first-years harm. On the other hand, those who did these sorts of serious actions were the Slytherins—as evinced by the gang they'd found on sixth floor—and they would have few reasons to hurt their own.

"As for you," MacGonagall said sternly, "You were following your prefects' orders, but that does not excuse failing to exercise simple _sense_. There will come times when you cannot simply take every word said to you for granted, and I hope tonight's events served as a meaningful lesson. As for you, Miss Wilson—" her eyes became sterner— "I commend your sense of duty, but you also broke several school protocols during the process, protocols which were imposed precisely in order for your protection. I'm afraid that for that you'll have to serve detention every day for two months."

Alex started. She hadn't received detention since the incident during her first year. She nodded quietly. MacGonagall turned to Henryk.

"Mr. Lee," MacGonagall said, "You are not a prefect."

It took a few seconds to realize that MacGonagall had been expecting a response. "No ma'am," he said.

"Nor are you the Head boy," she continued. "You realize that your dueling with six students— _six_ , Mr. Lee—and venturing into the Forbidden Forest cannot be excused."

"Yes ma'am," Henryk repeated.

"At the same time," MacGonagall continued, "there was no reason for you to do either of those things, either. For breaking the rules, you'll serve detention every day until the semester ends with Miss Wilson. For your display of bravery and selflessness for other students in need, however, forty points will be awarded to Hufflepuff." The last part had not been expected by any of those in the room and they all stared at MacGonagall in surprise. She had a faint smile on her lips. A rarity.

"Professor Sprout will no doubt be very happy to be informed that one of her new students has proved himself to be such a qualified Hufflepuff, I've no doubt," MacGonagall continued. "And as for Mr. Black, we've heard about his sacrifice in order to save the younger students, and for that he'll be awarded thirty points… and twenty for Miss Wilson, who made the difficult choice to stop her housemates at her own peril. Don't be so joyous, Mr. Gibbons," MacGonagall added drily to Gibbon's brightened face. "Mr. Flint, Mr. Rookwood, Mr. Macnair,. Mr. Yaxley, Mr. Lestrange and Mr. Nott have lost their house forty points each for their behavior tonight. I would say that the Slytherin house is—what is it?—a hundred and ninety points below where it was last evening." The news had an even stronger sobering effect on the first-years and they all left MacGonagall's office dejected and tired. Alex walked a few feet behind them, watching them warily. Who knew what would happen to them after tonight. To her surprise, Henryk went with her.

"The Hufflepuff common room is—"

"Not this way. I know." Of all of them he seemed the least tired, and there was still spring to his steps. "Let me look at your hand."

Alex had been watching the first-years enter the common room and didn't catch what he had been saying. "Sorry, what?" Henryk shook his head.

"Just give me," he said, reaching out for her right hand. Alex winced automatically as soon as his fingers pressed against her wrist.

"You've been avoiding using your right hand," Henryk said matter-of-factly. "And I heard a crack when you punched Flint. His nose wasn't broken." He looked over her hand Alex cried out in pain when he pressed gingerly against her knuckles. His fingers felt rough against her skin.

"Tender?" he asked, still looking at her hand. Alex tried to sound nonchalant.

"A bit," she said. Henryk sighed.

" _Episkey_ ," he said, pointing her wand at her hand. She could feel the disturbing sensation of her bones rearranging themselves underneath her skin and her knees buckled. Alex leaned against the wall.

"Ow," she said, trying to move her fingers. She could, but it still felt odd.

"Here," Henryk said, conjuring something. It was a pack of ice.

"Wrap it in something and hold it against your hand," Henryk muttered. "It's not ideal, but your hand should be fine."

"Thank you," Alex muttered, surprised and a bit abashed. She thought her hand had just been a bit sore.

"And I'd like my wand back, if you don't mind."

"Ah—right." Alex took her wand and gave his back. Now she was beginning to feel more and more like an idiot. Did he have to be able to do _everything_?

"One more thing," he said. Alex tried not to let her embarrassment show.

"What is it?"

"You're not very idealistic, are you?"

This was not a question that she had been expecting and Alex looked curiously at Henryk's expression. It was dark in the dungeons, however, and all she could make out were the strong outlines of his face.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Alex said eventually.

"You're not offended that I asked you the question?"

Alex considered. "Honestly?"

"If you can."

Alex quirked her eyebrow ironically. She suddenly wanted to simply find a chair and just sit there for a really long time. "Honestly," she began, "I think being too idealistic allows people to make extreme choices and ignore inconvenient details that go against their beliefs. And that goes both ways."

"But you're not _too_ idealistic. You're just not idealistic at all."

"Apparently I have to choose," Alex said quietly, thinking about Regulus lying pale and blue in the Hospital Wing, unconscious. She wondered when he would wake up, if he ever would… "I don't know which side I should choose."

"In that classroom," Henryk began slowly, as if this was a question that had weighted on his mind the most that night, "you were upset about Elena, and I thought I understood where you were coming from. But then your mind went immediately to Black." His tone made it clear what he thought of Regulus.

"He's a friend," Alex said, trying to sound neutral. Henryk scoffed.

"Then the English must have a very strange idea of friendship," he said. Alex sighed.

"Look, I don't know what I can tell you," she said tiredly.

"Right," Henryk said, and for some reason she hated how he answered, the way he sounded very distant like the day in front of the library when he accused her of taking too much interest in him. "Well, then. I guess I'll see you at detention." He turned to leave.

"Henryk," Alex said, hesitating. He didn't even turn around.

"What?"

"Thank you," Alex said quietly. "For everything tonight. Helping me deal with the Slytherins. Tracking down everyone. Even—even lying about dueling to cover for me. You didn't have to do any of that." She cleared her throat embarrassedly. "Thank you. I really do."

She couldn't tell what he was feeling. "Good night, Alex," he said finally, his tone softer, and he left without saying anything else.

* * *

Regulus woke up the next day late afternoon just as Alex returned from her last class. The events of the night before had made them forget everything that had made them fight in the first place and as he opened his eyes he answered his love's warm smile with a smile of his own. He was promptly forbidden by Madam Pomfrey from moving anywhere that night (or talking too much or even just thinking too much) and he promised to follow every single one of her instructions as long as she allowed Alex to stay with him until dinner. Madan Pomfrey left tutting about recent acromantula venoms and its effects on headstrong students. Alex, for one, didn't seem the least bit disturbed.

"I've been reading up on acromantulas," Alex said. "You should be okay."

Regulus grinned feebly. Despite his insistence to Madam Pomfrey that he was fine, he was feeling a bit dizzy. "You didn't have to do that," he said. "But what happened last night? Madam Pomfrey won't tell me anything—something about listening too much."

Alex gave him a brief summary of the events of last night. He tried to look more surprised than he felt when she told him about Lestrange and company (he half-suspected that they'd done similar things before, and it was due to their misfortunes that they were caught) to appease Alex, but when Lee entered the picture his surprise became real.

"Lee?" He frowned. "What was he doing there?"

"I'm not sure," Alex said. "Taking a late-night stroll, maybe? But that's not all..."

As he listened more and more to how Lee got involve, Regulus became more and more annoyed. The annoyance only grew when he heard how Lee had "rescued" him from the acromantulas that were about to devour him. Regulus couldn't refute anything that she said—the last thing he could remember from last night was being bitten in the neck by one of the spiders—but he wished that he could. He became positively appalled when Alex proceeded to tell him how Lee carried him on his back from the forest.

"Well," Regulus said when Alex told him everything, "I guess I owe him my thanks." He couldn't take sarcasm out of his voice. Alex smiled weakly and took his hand in both her hands. Regulus was hit by another wave of dizziness, and he told himself that it was due to the acromantula venom.

"You're alive," she said, "and for that I'll always owe him." Regulus didn't know how he could respond to this, so he looked out the nearest window. The sun was almost setting, and an orange glow permeated the entire hospital wing. Her grip on his hand tightened.

"Last night got me thinking," she started slowly. "I used to think that you were overreacting and pushing things forward too fast. And you probably are if things were normal. But things aren't normal, and what I'm trying to say is—" she frowned, struggling for words. Regulus sighed.

"No, you were right," he said quietly. "I was trying to decide everything by myself. I should have taken your feelings into account."

"But now I do think that you were right. At least in part. I don't know what will happen in two or twenty years, but right _now_ I know that I want us to be together. And I don't want to push you away for something that hasn't happened yet." She grinned embarrassedly, but Regulus thought that he had never seen a lovelier expression. The orange glow from the windows, the cool crumpled sheets of the Hospital Wing, even the faint smell of disinfectant all felt heaven-sent at the moment.

"Reg," Alex said nervously, "say something."

Regulus slowly brought her hands to his lips. He kissed the smooth skin on the backs of her hands before pecking each knuckle softly. Alex blushed.

"I would like that, too." His voice was shaking. "I would like that very much."


	24. Chapter 24

A few changes were experienced by Hogwarts students during the transition from autumn to winter.

First, the Slytherin Quidditch team found itself with an unusually cheerful captain, whose lighthearted behavior did little to detract his determination to win the first game against the Hufflepuffs, and the rest of the players took Regulus' gentler-than-usual directions at four in the morning with befuddlement. The confusion was only strengthened by the fact that Regulus Black really had nothing to be cheerful about; rumor had it that Mrs. Black, the hidden matriarch of the family, had gone to see an "eye specialist" in France when Mr. Black chose to remain in England with a half-blood consort in one of the country cottages. How anyone who was bitten by an acromantula just several weeks prior could demand everyone to wake up before the sunrise was beyond anyone's comprehension.

On a completely unrelated topic, Elena Rondby and Jeffrey Higgins, the second-year Hufflepuff and Gryffindor who were also discharged from the Hospital Wing the same day Regulus Black was, took to sitting with the female Slytherin prefect when the seats opposite to her in the library were available. This seemed like a classic case of sheep approaching a wolf with naïve curiosity to everyone in the vicinity who watched with trepidation as Alex Wilson explained something to the Hufflepuff girl why the Repellent Spell couldn't be used in water, but it seemed that Wilson had little desire to hurt anyone who didn't bother her too much.

The said Alex Wilson was in fact thinking about a different sort of change that happened the night before in the girl's dormitory, when Leila barged more loudly into the room than was her usual fashion, face scrunched up in indignant hurt that she barely managed to conceal. Alex had looked up from her Potions textbook with concern.

"What's going on?" she asked quickly. Leila looked around the room warily.

"Rebecca's not here, if that's what you're worried about," Alex said. "I think she's in her bathroom meeting."

"Well, then," Leila said. "That's just bloody perfect, isn't it?" She threw herself onto her bed and began to pinch her stuffed animal.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong," Leila growled, "is that Rosier is the biggest git in the world." She proceeded to tell Alex about her suspicions. Alex tried to remain neutral. Yes, Evan Rosier wasn't the nicest bloke on the block, but would he—

"Yes," Leila said emphatically. "He would. I know he would. I just don't have proof."

Alex sighed. "Have you tried to talk to him about it? Maybe he could explain—"

"That what? That he's _not_ seeing another skank behind my back? Would you believe him if you were me?" Leila's eyes narrowed. "Then again, I suppose that the Prince is somewhat more reliable than Rosier."

Despite the situation Alex flushed faintly. "That's not—"

"Not true, I know, yada, yada, yada," Leila droned sarcastically. "Don't think I haven't seen the attempt at hand-holding after Charms, Wilson—although, to be honest, it was a rather sorry attempt. What was it that you two managed to do—link your pinkies?"

Alex decided that there was no way to get out of this situation dignified. "We aren't talking about me. We're talking about you."

"Right," Leila said, looking marginally more comforted. "But looking at you two makes me wonder, y'know, if—" Leila squinted at the puppet's eyes. Alex frowned.

"What?"

"If it's really possible," Leila said. "For two people to really like each other."

Meanwhile, Alex Wilson learned what it was like to feel constantly uneasy about her own well-being. It had nothing to do with the war, or so she would have liked to have thought; a few weeks after the incident which had brought her several months' worth of detention, Alex overheard a rather unwelcome conversation as she trudged back to the common room from the Great Hall. Regulus had Quidditch practice, and Leila for once had decided to seek help from Professor MacGonagall about the latest essay. As she was about to turn around a corner, she heard a hushed voice say:

" _He_ 's always watching her, y'know, you won't be able to approach her head-on..." It was Yaxley, and he sounded very certain about what he was talking about.

"I don't think so," another voice said—Macnair. "Black's been scheduling practices left and right. Flint's not gonna be able to join us."

"Just as well," a deeper voice grumbled. "Knocked down by a girl. By _Wilson_ , no less." A chorus of jeering and low chuckling made their feelings about her clear and Alex pressed her back to the wall, feeling both anger and dread. Whatever they'd meant about "approaching her," she didn't like it.

The voices grew fainter as the boys made their way slowly back to the Common room and Alex waited until she couldn't hear any footsteps before slowly following them. So they held a grudge. To be honest, Alex felt stupid for not seeing it coming. Macnair—in fact, all of them—were not the type to take being beaten lightly. And the circumstances in which they were found could not have helped the case. Dumbledore had chosen to deal with the incident as discreetly as possible, which meant that no one beside the ones involved knew what happened. Alex frowned. _Crucio_ —one of the Unforgivable curses. They should have been sent to Azkaban, seventeen or not. Or should they have been? Alex didn't know.

Over the following weeks Alex began to become paranoid about the noises coming from behind her. Every footstep, every hint of murmur set her on edge—increasingly in the library, as Alex found that detentions tended to take free time away from her when she could study. At one point, even Elena asked her if everything was alright.

"'Course," Alex said, thinking that Rookwood was someone who would carry out a plan to the end. And if Elena was tortured for making the Beater's bat slippery—of course, they were probably just looking for an excuse, but nonetheless—she didn't want to think too much about what they were planning for her.

"Time for detention," she said, looking at her watch. "Are you fine with the Grangaulia question?"' Elena gave her a thumbs-up. Alex attempted to grin before taking off.

The fall was definitely coming to an end, Alex thought as she stepped into the first floor corridor. Outside she could see that the leaves had already fallen and that most of the grass had receded into the ground in preparation for the oncoming winter. A rather peculiar sense of wistfulness came over her. In a world where no one felt vengeful—in a world where vengeance simply couldn't exist, because no one could do someone else wrong—there must be great peace there, serenity which would make it possible for her to enjoy the change of season. But that was not the world that she was living in, and she should at least prepare herself for—what, round two of Moonlight Fist-fighting? Alex shook her head. What was she supposed to do when they came back for her again—fight all of them off? Wouldn't they just come back for her again?

The way to detention was chilly, and Alex braced herself against the wind. For the past month or so Professor MacGonagall had been circulating the two errant students to the parts of the castle that needed something done—library books reshelved where the Place-Finding Charm was wearing off, slimes scrubbed off old pots in the dungeons, telescope lenses cleaned and refocused—and she received a note just a few hours ago that today's detention was to take place in Greenhouse three.

"You're late," Henryk said unceremoniously when she arrived. Alex coughed.

"Only by a few minutes," she replied, trying not to sound too defensive.

"Madam Pomfrey needs the Ergopillars replanted," Henryk replied without missing a beat. "And the Cardi flowers need to be covered for winter."

"Covered with what?" Alex asked. Henryk gave a meaningful look at the pile of Skrewt dung in the corner.

"I'll get to it, then," Alex said resignedly, stretching her hands inside her gloves.

If Alex had thought that Henryk would be any different after the night in the Forbidden Forest, she would have been proven wrong. Henryk barely looked at her these days, and the only times he spoke to her was when he had to pass information along for detentions. Not that Alex minded overly—she told herself that she didn't need approval from someone who was set against liking her. So she began to load the nearby cart with the cardi flower pots, calculating how many trips that she would have to make.

Outside there was a giggle. Henryk sighed. Alex couldn't say that she particularly sympathized with his predicament.

She knew that he was popular—or at least, Rebecca certainly made it out to sound like it with her regular bathroom meetings. But Alex didn't realize to what extent he was popular until their detentions began. Despite the fact that they were assigned their tasks on the day of the detention, the band of girls miraculously found where Henryk Lee would be each evening and managed to sneak in—sometimes even when the Professors were supervising. They blatantly offered to lighten his load and relieve him of the menial tasks that he was "unjustly forced to complete." Alex supposed that this was a better way of getting someone's attention than sending a Howler that sang the latest version of Christina Warbeck's love songs (James Potter learned the hard lesson that this was not the way to anyone's heart, let alone Lily Evans'), and she would have admired the girls for taking action had it not been for the fact that they always viewed her with suspicion.

"Hi, Henryk," said one of the girls—Hufflepuff, Alex recognized vaguely. She was one of the nicer sorts.

"Hullo, Fiona," Henryk said rather glumly.

"What's wrong?" she asked concernedly. "Is everything alright?" The concern in her voice seemed to set him on alarm, and Henryk immediately stood up straight with a large smile on his face that was just a tad unnatural. Alex raised her eyebrows as she moved the cart toward her table. The Cardi flowers were wiggling in their pots, sniffing the dung with their petals.

"Of course it is," he said jovially. "Why wouldn't it be?" Fiona, on the other hand, seemed intent on not letting go of a crack that she'd found.

"Do you need any help?" she said kindly. "I'm rather handy in Herbology, you see."

"That's really nice of you," Henryk said. "But I'm supposed to do this on my own."

"Come on," Fiona said, leaning ever-so-slightly against the table. "Professor Sprout would never know that—" What Professor Sprout would never know, they never found out—one of the Cardi flowers enthusiastically grabbed on to some of the dung and decided to hurl it across the room straight to Fiona's face. Alex stared from her position, horrified.

"Sorry," she stuttered. "The flowers, they're a bit—um—"

"It's okay, Alex," Fiona said with a bright smile that was just a tad too bright to be natural. Alex didn't even know how Fiona found out her name. "Just make sure to tickle the flowers below the leaves next time?"

"Oh," Alex said, remembering the trick from her fourth year class. "Right. It's been a while."

Fiona's smile developed a rather nasty edge. "I'm sure," she said, wiping her face. Alex tried to grin sheepishly before going back to her work. Fiona seemed to lose her verve after smiling at Henryk with a what-can-you-do kind of a smile and left soon after. Alex soon remembered that the reason that lesson had never much made an impression on her was because at that time Regulus was going out with Rebecca or whatever it was and she was habitually looking his way when she thought no one was looking…

"Thanks," Henryk said out of the blue. Alex started.

"For what—not having paid attention in class?" she answered, frowning. Henryk shrugged.

"Not you," he said. "The flower. She had a great timing."

"She?" Alex said, too puzzled to be embarrassed.

"You really weren't paying attention, were you?" Henryk said, but she didn't think that he was trying to be patronizing… "Female Cardi flowers have purple stems. Male ones have blue stems."

"If you say so," Alex said.

"Shouldn't you be more concerned? You being a fifth-year, and all." Henryk asked, and Alex felt a surge of irritation—since when did Henryk Lee care whether or not she passed her Herbology O.W.L.?

"How is that any business of yours?" she asked exasperatedly. Henryk raised his hands in defense. The adolescent Ergopillar squirmed uneasily between his fingers at the sudden change in altitude.

"If you must know," Alex said stiffly, "I'm not sure if I want to continue with Herbology next year."

"Why not?"

"You don't really need Herbology unless you want to be a Healer," Alex said. "And I don't. I learn enough about biological ingredients in Potions, which takes up a lot of time."

"Yes, but a lot of advanced Potions is about experimenting with different plants," Henryk said, frowning. "Didn't Slughorn tell your class about that?"

Alex gave Henryk an ironic look. "Yes, because Slughorn receives the Faculty of the Year Award every year without fail. His every word imparts wisdom to his students." Henryk grinned faintly.

"Still," he said. "Never a bad idea to keep your options open—especially when you don't know what you want to do,"

Alex frowned. "Who said anything about—"

"Doesn't every fifth-year feel that way?" Henryk intercepted quickly. Alex gave him a strange look but decided not to pursue further. She didn't need to be on his bad graces when she…

"Lee," Alex said with some resolve. She told herself not to take anything he would say personally.

"Yes?"

"How do you—how do you do that?"

Henryk did not look particularly enlightened. "Do what?"

"Duel," Alex said, violently pushing Skrewt dung into a pot and refusing to look at him.

Henryk frowned. "I don't follow," he said. Alex sighed.

"Flint and the gang haven't learned to let things go," she said dully. "Or so I suspect. I don't want them to catch me in unawares."

Henryk frowned. "Can't Black help?" Alex glared at the newest Cardi flower. She didn't want to tell anyone that she didn't know who Regulus would choose when it came down to her and the rest of the Slytherin house. Would Regulus ever abandon the entire society that his family is entrenched in?

"He's busy," she said. "And it's something that I should know how to do."

Henryk didn't say anything for a while, and Alex began to wonder if he found her so ridiculous that he decided to ignore her when he began to talk, his eyes focused on the Ergopillars.

"It's not something that you just—learn out of a book," he said slowly. "And it takes more than just spells—physical strength, coordination, just to name a few. It takes time."

Alex tried to digest this. "How did you learn, then?"

Henryk shrugged. "Part of the curriculum."

Alex frowned. "They teach you dueling at Durmstrang?" she asked. Henryk didn't answer.

"Just ask me already," he said instead.

Alex frowned. "Ask you what?"

Henryk gave her a look. "Fine. I'll teach you how to duel," he drawled. "And you should know that I won't go easy on you just because you're a girl."

Alex stared at him, flabbergasted and secretly embarrassed, although she would never admit this aloud.

"What do you want in return?" she asked. Henryk shrugged.

"Help with this might be nice," he said, pointing at the Ergopillars.

"I'm already working on something here," she said spottily. Henryk just laughed.

"Tell you what, Wilson," he said. "Just ask your friend Parkinson to go easy on the Hufflepuffs during tomorrow's match, yeah?" And Alex remembered why Regulus had been scheduling all those extra practices lately.

The weather was dismal the next day. The downpour of rain promised to soak everyone's cloak within minutes, and even Leila looked doubtfully at the open ceiling of the Great Hall, doing silent calculations with her mouth that Alex didn't understand.

"This is bad," Leila said. "Hufflepuff's traditionally strong in bad weather—don't know why. I've never seen them practice in the rain."

"Dimness, no doubt," Rosier said bracingly, clamping Flint on his back in encouragement. Alex gripped her cup a little more tightly. "Good or bad weather, they can't see ten feet in front of them." Flint grinned menacingly.

"We'll get them," he said, sending a particularly mean look toward a Beater in the Hufflepuff team who was, in all appearance, calmly eating his breakfast. Alex coughed involuntarily.

"Not so fast, Flint," Leila said. "I don't know much about Lee, but Harrison—" the other Hufflepuff Beater— "has proven himself more than agile in the rain. Two years ago against Gryffindor—"

"Come on, Leila," Rosier whined. "Don't be such a buzzkill." Leila bit her lips but didn't say anything and Alex discreetly pushed a cup of hot chocolate in her way. Regulus, who had been listening all the while in silence, spoke up for the first time.

"Parkinson's right," he said quietly. "The odds are not with us." Was it just Alex's imagination, or did Regulus look paler than usual?

"That's some pep talk, Captain," Coot Willie, the second-year Chaser, piped excitedly. It was his first game at Hogwarts and not even the daunting weather could beat his spirit. Regulus grinned faintly.

"Just trying to know the enemy, Willie," Regulus said. When others began to chat about the game itself, placing bets loudly, Alex leaned in closer to him.

"Will it be alright?" Alex asked worriedly. Regulus turned to he and grinned, but his eyes were strained.

"'Course it will," he said. "With luck we'll begin the season thirty points ahead of Gryffindor." Giles, the Gryffindor Seeker, had managed to end the first game against the Ravenclaws within five minutes of the start. Harper, the Quidditch Captain, had not been too pleased despite their victory.

"I'm not worried about winning," Alex said gently. "I'm just worried that you might not be safe."

For a moment the strain in his eyes seemed to vanish and his entire face soften until Alex unwillingly blushed to the roots of her hair, but Regulus then simply pinched her right cheek, making her yelp.

"It's not my first time in the rain," he said, chuckling. "I'll be fine." Then he got up and left the table. Leila rolled her eyes.

"Better prepare for my commentary," she said, also getting up. "And between you and me, Alex, I'm hoping that Flint falls off his broom and dies… it can only help the team, y'know." With a mischievous grin Leila left the Hall as well, but Alex couldn't help but feel that Leila had lost a bit of her old spark since the beginning of fifth year. She frowned after her, wondering.

There was little reason for her to remain in the Hall except for the uneaten cup of hot chocolate, and Alex was entertaining the possibility that Leila's problem with Rosier may be deeper than just suspected infidelity when she was suddenly pulled into an empty classroom. Alex automatically reached out for her wand, but a hand stopped her.

"It's me," Henryk hissed. "I don't have a lot of time until the game starts."

"Lee?" Alex said. "Shouldn't you be down the—"

"Precisely," Henryk said. "Eat your breakfast a little faster, for Lech's sake."

Alex frowned. "What?" she said, but Henryk merely shook his head.

"Listen," he said. "Have you talked to Parkinson?" Her confusion grew only more pronounced.

"Is that what you pulled me in to talk about?" she said.

"Just tell me."

Alex tried to look as dignified as possible. "No, Henryk, I did not talk to Leila because she believes in fair commentary, and besides, it's a ridiculous favor to ask—"

"Brilliant," Henryk said. "Go sit next to her in the Commentator's booth and talk to her."

Alex wondered if the pre-game jitters were more serious than she thought. "What?"

"Go and sit next to her," Henryk enunciated slowly. "It's not a hard thing to do, is it?"

"I really don't know why—"

"It's got better view, you won't get soaked from the rain, and you'll be sitting next to someone who actually gives a care about fair commentary. What else could you need?" Henryk looked wildly at her bewildered expression before cursing. "I'm not really great at this," he muttered.

"Look, I'll sit next to Leila, alright?" Alex said, trying to sound calming. "Just don't get too ballistic and—I don't know, kill someone. It's just a game." Henryk merely glared at the windows, where the thickening rain drummed harder against the glass.

"I'll try," he muttered darkly before suddenly exiting the room. Alex could only assume that the rain was making everyone a bit off and headed toward the pitch herself.

Leila looked mildly surprised when her face emerged from the stairs leading up to the booth.

"Well, well, well," she drawled. "How to I owe you this honor?"

Alex shrugged. "You know. It's raining and I thought I might enjoy the privilege of a roof over my head—oh, hello, professor," Alex said. MacGonagall had climbed up the stairs as well to check in on Leila.

"Miss Wilson, Miss Parkinson," MacGonagall said crisply. "Everything in order as usual?"

"Everything's perfectly in order," Leila said, cooing at her microphone lovingly. "The mic's been clean and polished, I've checked the tabs for jinxes and—the works. Everything's going swell." MacGonagall nodded approvingly. Alex held back a shudder. Two Quidditch lovers bonding over their love was a sight that she could never quite get used to.

"Now we wait," Leila said mockingly to Alex, patting on the stool next to her. "Until Madam Hooch gives us the signal to start. Of course, you would know all this if you came with me a year ago like I _told_ you to."

"My sincerest apologies," Alex said drily, scanning the field. The players were zooming around in the air, warming up their brooms—but she could barely see anything on the other half of the field, and the spectator's faces were a wet blur.

" _Oculo claro_ ," Leila said, waving her wand at Alex. "That should clear your vision a bit. See?" Surely enough, now the players were discernible by the numbers on their backs, and Alex could see the usual Slytherin Stinks banner on the side of the Hufflepuffs stands. Alex blinked in marvel.

"This _is_ cool," she admitted. "Does Reg know—"

"Yes," Leila said emphatically. "Merlin, Wilson. Of course I told him. Whether he listened is a completely different matter."

Alex rubbed her shoulder. "Of course he listened," she said placatingly. Leila scoffed.

"Won't be so sure," she muttered. But before Alex could say anything in response, Leila received a signal from Madam Hooch and began to speak into the microphone.

"And welcome to this rainy match, Hogwarts, Slytherin against Hufflepuff. This is the first match of the season for both teams..." Leila fired off, looking as natural as fish in water. Alex looked at her with bemused admiration. Leila didn't even have a script or notes in front of her; all came out in rapid, coherent succession, and Leila for one did not even seem at least perturbed that dozens, if not hundreds of students were listening to her. This was what she was meant to do. Alex stared at her, wondering. Leila might have found a calling, even though it might have been outside the classroom. And her? She had no idea.

"And we're off! Nott's got the Quaffle, passed to Willie, to Cavanaugh, to Willie again, we're getting closer, but what—" a series of groans came from the Slytherin stand. " _Excellent_ defense by Harrison, if I may say, a clean aim on the shoulder, I do always say that Harrison performs well in bad weather, and now the Hufflepuffs, Abbott, to Miles, and—" Leila's commentary went on, and Alex watched with some interest as the players zoomed around in the air. Regulus circled the pitch like a hawk, occasionally purposefully getting in the way of the Hufflepuff Beaters in order to mess their way.

The rain grew thicker.

"And now Slytherin's leading by seventy to forty, but Hufflepuffs are showing no sign of retreating! We're back to Miles—LOOK AT HIM LOOPING THROUGH THOSE CHASERS! Blocked by Flint, but Abbott's quicker—he's now in the second zone, he's close by, HE SCORES! Seventy to fifty!" Leila's shouts were overshadowed by the roar from the Hufflepuff stand and Abbott did a sort of victory jiggle midair.

"And now we're back to the Slytherins, Cavanaugh takes lead and Abbott is tailing him close behind, folks. And—an excellent aim from Lee! Now, from that distance, it would've taken quite a bit of muscle—the rumors in the girl's bathroom must be true..."

"Miss Parkinson!" MacGonagall said, but there was no scolding in her voice. In fact, her twitching lips told a rather different story.

"Sorry, Professor, just trying to reflect the views of different students. Miles is taking things by the storm, and— _was that the Snitch_?" The whole stadium grew quiet for a second, and even the players seemed to freeze momentarily in midair, not knowing what to do. Then everyone broke loose.

"IT IS THE SNITCH!" Leila screamed into the microphone. "IT'S THE BLOODY SNITCH, AND REGULUS BLACK IS GOING AFTER IT, BUT WOULD HE BE FAST ENOUGH? MASON'S CLOSE BEHIND, _WHERE'S_ THE SLYTHERIN BEATERS WHEN YOU NEED THEM—" Then Leila frowned, looking confused. "Wait," she said quietly away from the microphone, squinting at the pit. "What are they doing?" Flint and Lestrange were flying side-by-side and passing Bludgers between themselves around the stadium as if they couldn't care less about the game. They circled the pitch several times, as if they were looking for something, but then suddenly Flint changed his direction and took his aim—

"IT'S COMING HERE!" Leila, in a moment of panic, forgot that she was holding a microphone. "YES, THAT IS A BLOODY BLUDGER HEADED OUR WAY, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE FLINT, IF YOU CAN'T TAKE A BIT OF CRITICISM—"

"Get down, now!" MacGonagall snapped, trying to pull both of them onto the ground, but Alex squinted into the rain, watching the faint, dark dot grow bigger and bigger. Was that the Bludger? But it was coming her way—

There was a sound of several bones breaking. A loud roar came from the stands.

"What—" Leila said, stumbling to regain her balance. She scanned the pitch.

"Regulus Black's caught the Snitch," she announced, sounding neither excited nor surprised. "And he's giving Flint some serious talking to, well, that's to be expected, I suppose, and—" Leila paused. She turned around from the window, looking uncharacteristically pale.

"Lee's on the ground," she said quietly. "I think he fell from the hit."

* * *

"I want a rematch." Those were the first words that Alex heard Regulus Black say after the game.

They were all gathered in the Hospital Wing, once again, and Alex wearily reflected that she'd seen far too many people in the Hospital Wing that fall. Lee was lying unconscious in bed, and the entire Hufflepuff stood around him, drenched and dripping water on the floor. Regulus was standing nearby, giving them enough space so that he wouldn't seem like he was intruding. Alex sat by a nearby bed and Leila sat next to her, watching the interaction with unusual sincerity. Madam Hooch was talking softly with Madam Pomfrey, who was busily taking things from her cabinet.

"It's fine, Black," Conrad Thomas, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team captain, sounded like he was barely containing himself. "Slytherin won. Fair and square."

"The Beaters aimed at the commentator's box. That goes under maiming and intentional harm. They took their aim before I caught the Snitch. They're disqualified. I _demand_ a rematch." Regulus sounded far too calm for Alex's comfort. He had the tendency to sound very, very calm before he—

"Black, Flint and Lestrange took aim UNDER YOUR WATCH. If anything, YOU failed in your responsibilities as a captain. Tell me why I shouldn't report YOU to the committee." It seemed that Thomas beat Regulus to the punch and exploded first. Regulus' eyes became steely and glinted.

"Thomas," he said quietly. "I regret what happened to Lee. But I hardly think that I told the Beaters to aim at my girlfriend, do you?" At his words, Thomas looked slightly contrite, but he was still fuming.

"Alright," Madam Pomfrey said briskly. "Stop this jibber-jabber. Black, the Bludger hit by Mr. Flint never reached the commentator's box. The rules state that the Bludger must _hit its mark_ in order to determine what its mark was in the first place. Therefore, Mr. Flint and Mr. Lestrange are not disqualified." When Regulus opened his mouth to protest, Madam Hooch held up her hand.

"However," she said, "that does not mean that _you_ as the captain do not have the right to suspend them from further games." She looked at him significantly. "I'll trust your discretion. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey assures me that his arm and shoulders are broken and that he has a head concussion, but his state is not critical. All he needs is rest. Which means, Mr. Thomas, that your team should leave him be for now." With those words Madam Hooch ushered all of them out of the Hospital Wing, aided and abetted by the eager Madam Hooch. Alex trudged behind Regulus and Leila reluctantly, taking one last look at Henryk. He looked so oddly vulnerable, lying on the bed with his eyes closed…

"Thank Merlin you're alright," Regulus breathed out in the corridor, pulling Alex into his arms. "For a second, I thought—"

"Hmm," Leila coughed conspicuously, "there are people here?"

Regulus ignored her. "Alex, I—" But Alex pushed him away.

"Flint's been after me," Alex said, looking into the thin air. "Along with Lestrange and others. Ever since that time when we had to separate during rounds? This is all my fault. I told Henryk, and now he's—"

"Wait, back up," Leila said. "Flint's been after you? _And_ Lestrange? That just doesn't make any sense—"

"And you told Lee," Regulus added. "Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"That's not the point here, _Black_ ," Leila snapped. "The point is that they're threatening her for some reason—"

"And why didn't you tell me?" Regulus demanded, still looking at Alex. " _I_ could have kept a closer eye on them, this whole thing might not have happened—"

"Would you two just stop?" Alex said exasperatedly. "Flint and the gang are mad at me because I caught them torturing a Muggleborn and I stopped what he was doing. And I didn't tell you because I thought that you would—" Alex hesitated. Regulus narrowed his eyes.

"What, Alex?" he asked. "What did you think that I would do?" Alex sighed.

"That you would take their side," she said quietly. "You've already decided who you stand with, remember?" Regulus' usual cool gray eyes became stormier with every word she said.

"Then you're mistaken," Regulus snapped. "Decided or not, I would never stand by someone who wanted to hurt you. And if that's all you thought of me, I don't know what I'm doing here." He gave her a spiteful look before turning around and marching toward the staircase. Alex leaned weakly against the stone wall, feeling drained for some reason— _she_ didn't just fall thirty feet off from thin air. She didn't just come back from a Quidditch game in the rain. But everything felt fuzzy and indistinguishable from one another.

"We're always fighting," Alex murmured to the ground. "I don't know why. We care for each other. At least, I think he does."

"You _think_ he does?" Leila scoffed. "No, Alex. He just got upset because he _didn't_ care for you and couldn't believe that you figured out how indifferent he was. No, he doesn't care for you at all."

"Thanks a lot," Alex said.

"You're being a complete idiot, you know that?" Leila continued. "Going to Lee? I admit that he's not bad on the eyes, but Regulus has been looking over you since first year—you do know that, right?" At Alex's puzzled expression, Leila growled in frustration.

"I can't believe that I have to explain everything," she muttered. "You're supposed to be smart. You get O's on your DADA essays. What's wrong with you?"

"I didn't know that Reg was—"

"What, you think Rebecca Goyle would have left alone a half-blood sharing a room with her?" Leila said sarcastically. "Or—or would Mulciber ever tolerate a half-blood taking from the same plate during dinners? _Really_ , Alex?"

"Is _that_ why you talk to me?" Alex said quietly. "Because of _him_?"

Leila's face grew colder than ice. "I can't believe that you would even ask that question," she said icily, and turned away to walk away. Before she did, however, Leila turned around and said:

"You know what, Alex? I'm _glad_ this happened. Because now we all know what you're really thinking, and _I_ don't have to deal with your incessant self-pity and Regulus Black can move on to someone better." And Leila walked away from her.

Alex slowly sank to the ground. There was a boy on the other side of the wall who was unconscious just because he wanted to help her, a friend fuming alone in hurt and jealousy in their dorm, and Reg—probably going over the game with Altair Wymond's book, trying to pretend like nothing happened to upset him in any way. Alex curled her hands into fists and dug her fingers into her palm to stop herself from crying.

"You complete idiot," Alex repeated Leila's words, burying her head between her knees, "why can't you do anything right?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed—y'all made my day:)


	25. Chapter 25

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Silence.

"Try again—and this time, try—I don't know—making puppy eyes. Something that'll convince him."

Alex glared at the finely scrubbed floor. "Forget it," she muttered. Henryk shrugged next to her.

"Your choice," he said. "But you can't expect him to see you stiff as a gargoyle and feel forgiving."

"Why aren't you scrubbing the floor harder?" Alex said irritably. "Filch asked for sparkling. The floor's not sparkling."

"Y'know, I think my shoulder hasn't healed completely yet..." Henryk trailed off, looking innocently into the air. Alex sighed.

"Fine," she muttered, getting back to work.

With Leila and Regulus both refusing to speak to her, Alex found to her inner cynic's satisfaction that the only person remotely willing to talk to her was Henryk Lee, the cause of the whole debacle in the first place. The said cause was discharged three days after the Quidditch game, looking as healthy as ever and acting almost chirpy, as if losing the Quidditch game had served to lift his spirits. Even now he was humming a low tune that Alex didn't recognize, scrubbing the floor energetically.

"It's been a week," Henryk said. "I'm presuming that Black's now tired of being mad at you and just wants you to say the right things. Same with Parkinson."

"Well, then, I must be really bad at finding those right things to say," Alex muttered glumly. "Because so far all Reg's done is to ignore me. It's fourth year all over again," _but I know it's my fault this time_ , Alex added silently, feeling even glummer.

"What happened in fourth year?" Alex just shook her head.

"Look on the bright side," Henryk said, standing up to stretch. "You mastered the _Incendio_ charm in less than a day yesterday."

"Right," Alex said, unsure what was worse—having a fight with Reg, or continuing to associate with the (distal) cause of the fight. But she had to admit that, despite her reservations, Henryk Lee was a rather decent teacher; he was patient and unpatronizing when showing her how spells should be done, and it seemed like he even had a curriculum planned out for the next several months. They usually met in one of the empty classrooms before the detentions for about thirty minutes or so, and Henryk made the point of making every minute count—by bombarding her with reviews and new materials. Alex shook her head. For someone who chose to study two years below him, Henryk sure seemed to have a tendency to overwork.

The next morning Alex woke up feeling heavy and tired. Nine—on Saturday. Reg must be practicing Quidditch, and Leila going through her Saturday ritual—which meant going through each and every Quidditch magazine of the week in the morning followed by spying on one of the Quidditch practices in the afternoon. Alex sighed and snuggled closer to her blanket. Disturbing Leila during her ritual was bound to make her even more irritable, and Regulus prefered not having any distractions during practice, which meant that she wouldn't be able to talk to him until afternoon. Groaning, she got out of the bed and trudged into the bathroom. The sixteen-inch Charms essay. Twenty page translation for Ancient Runes. Henryk's bloody Quarantino spell. She briefly wondered why she even bothered to amend things, especially when the two were never willing to see things from her perspective, but the prospect of life without Regulus visited her again and left her feeling hollow and cold inside. She shivered involuntarily. She missed him. She needed him.

Against her better judgement Alex ended up going to the Quidditch pitch after brunch.

"Hullo," Alex said casually, having watched Regulus gather up the players and give last bit of notes before dismissing them. "That one went rather smoothly, didn't it?"

Regulus barely turned around to look at her. "A bit busy here."

"The practice just ended."

"I have to clean up."

"I'll wait, then," Alex said, almost running to catch up with Regulus' long strides.

"I'm going to the locker room."

"Alright."

"That means that you can't go in."

"Did I mention that I was sorry?"

"No."

"Well, sorry."

"For what?" Alex cursed inwardly. She thought it was the girls who were supposed to ask these detailed questions. She looked down at her scuffed shoes.

"For not believing in you," she said in a small voice. Regulus looked at her with an unfathomable expression for a few seconds before pushing open the doors to the boy's locker room and disappearing behind them without an answer. Alex stood by the entrance, staring at the door. She suppressed a sigh and kicked a small rock nearby moodily. Regulus could be so stubborn.

Regulus emerged about twenty minutes later, his hair wet. He'd changed into school robes.

"So—" Alex began, but Regulus was walking too fast. Alex sprinted off after him.

"Reg, this is silly," Alex said. Regulus shot her a murderous glare.

"How would you feel if you found out that I told Rebecca Goyle about my family, but not you?" His voice was cool, even logical. His eyes were anything but. Alex bit her lips.

"Okay, it's not silly," Alex admitted. "I'm sorry. I just meant—you can't be mad at me forever."

Regulus muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but to Alex it sounded suspiciously like _can't I?_ Alex's fists balled up into fists on their own and Alex wondered for a brief moment how Regulus would react to getting the same treatment that Flint did.

"You know what, Regulus?" she snapped. "That's enough. It's been a week. I've apologized a hundred times, and you're being a prat. You _know_ I'm sorry. And I should've known better. But you know what—I might've felt more open to talking to you if you'd shown the smallest sign that you disapproved of what Flint and Rosier and everyone else did. But you didn't." Her voice grew louder and louder until she was positively yelling at Regulus' face by the end of her last sentence. Students turned around to stare at them curiously, and Alex' face reddened as she realized what was happening. Regulus stood in front of her impassively.

"I'm going to the library," he said before turning around to go. Alex felt a growl beginning to rise from her throat. He was going to play it that way, was he? She stomped her way toward the library herself, feeling irritation scratching at her skin. Regulus bloody Black could be as obstinate as he wanted. She didn't care. At all.

So when she threw her book bag on the chair by their usual table, Alex told herself that it was not done with any unusual amount of force despite the fact that the entire table shook a little due to her arrival. Regulus didn't look up from his essay. Alex scoffed and sat down across from him, taking out her assignments. Translation. Essay. She wondered if sitting by their table was the best decision. She could've just picked out another spot. But moving to a different table after seating herself seemed like a petty move. Or was it petty? Alex didn't know—as far as arguments went she had no idea what the best options were. Alex sneaked a peak at Regulus' direction. Still steadily writing. Well then. It wasn't as if she was incapable of doing her assignments as well.

The sun moved to its zenith and began to set its journey to the west.

One would have believed that Alex's irritation would have worn out with time, but somehow every time she glanced at Regulus' direction, at his almost immobile position except his writing hand, Alex felt a new surge of annoyance rise from the pit of her stomach and trickle into her every capillary. So he could sit there and be—be perfectly unmoved, and calm, and efficient. She crossed the t in front of her forcefully. It wasn't that she cared. At all.

The chair scratched the floor loudly as she stood up.

Stiffly, Alex held her head high and marched to the history section. Regulus could be as she wished. She needed to find a book for the History of Magic essay—but what was it called again? _The Unnerving Past._

Someone brushed past her and headed to the same aisle that she needed to go to. Alex narrowed her eyes.

"Could you move over, please?" she asked politely, but her voice sounded a bit too tight to be really natural. "I'm looking for a book."

"So am I," Regulus said, not taking his eyes off from the bookshelf.

"I'm sure that you can look for it later," Alex said, unable to suppress her miffed self. She pushed him with her shoulder and began to squint at the spines of the books in the dim twilight. Why Hogwarts never managed to light the entire library, she could never understand…

Next to her Regulus coughed. "I was looking," he said. Alex didn't answer. _The Unnerving Past_ was indeed there, on the top shelf. If she stood on her tiptoes, she _could_ reach it—she had to reach it, she was obviously not going to jump up and down for a book in a completely undignified way in front of Regulus after literally pushing him away. She stood precariously on her toes, stretching her side and her fingers. Almost there—

Pale, long fingers closed around the book before she could reach it and took it from the shelf. Alex turned around, thoroughly annoyed.

"I need that—" she began to say, frown appearing on her face, but she never quite found out what she was going to say. Regulus was looking down at her with an unfathomable expression on his face. But it was his eyes that arrested her, took the words from her mouth. They roved over her face, over each angle and curve before settling on her lips. Her eyes barely had the time to widen as Regulus drew his face close to hers and kissed her.

Alexandra Sophia Wilson would have liked to say that her first kiss was extraordinary (this was of course an understatement, as all first kisses should be absolutely phenomenal), but the most prominent feeling in her gut was panic followed closely by alarm. Never mind that it was Reg, her Reg, her best friend whose hands she tried in so many different occasions to hold and failed in the hallway. There was a boy invading her personal space. Not just invading—kissing her. At least, Alex thought that was how kisses were supposed to be. She didn't know what kissing was like. Was she supposed to—move her lips? At all? Did kisses always get this wet? Something dropped to the floor with a heavy thump. The library book. They were in the library. Regulus' freed hand sought her waist, pulling her closer, and their proximity strengthened her alarm and fear. She pushed him away.

Regulus, who had not been expecting it, was pushed into the next aisle of bookshelf. He winced as his back met the wooden shelves. His chest was heaving. His eyes looked wildly at her. When they saw the expression on her face, his whole face fell.

"Alex," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Alex swallowed with difficulty and nodded. Regulus looked around, obviously embarrassed, and picked up the book that he'd thrown away. He offered it to her and Alex looked at in confusion. The book—what did she need the book for? Ah yes, her history class. She tried to direct her mind to coherent thoughts, but everything was in shambles. The kiss. That was all she could remember. His lips on hers. She had been perfectly still. How mortifying. But Regulus had felt so warm, his breath tickling the skin of her face. So Alex took a step, and another, and then another. Her hands reached for his on their own accord, and he accepted them, lacing their fingers together. The poor book was dropped to the floor again. Her legs wobbled.

"Be very, very still." She was croaking a broken plea. Regulus nodded silently.

Their lips met for the second time: barely any pressure, fleeting, but still warm. The third time was somewhat stronger, and her feet took another step towards him as she leaned her weight against him for the first time; the kiss lasted a little longer. And then her hands sought out his face, the heat of his neck and waves of his hair that enclosed her fingers. His hands reached out for her back, pulling her closer to him again. This time she gave into his force, arching her back so that she could meet more of him. A low sound came from his chest and vibrated through her torso. Alex pulled him closer as well, wanting more.

Alex couldn't tell how fast the time was passing. All she knew was Regulus, his body against hers, his lips seeking hers over and over again, their tongues meeting shyly, boldly, affectionately, hungrily. Her body was pressed against the bookshelf. The sound of their breath filled her ears, and the fresh scent of soap on his skin tickled her nose. Regulus bent lower and began to leave a trail of kisses down her neck and she let out a moan, clutching his shoulders tightly. Regulus—

A small squeak broke them apart.

A first-year was looking at them with wide eyes. He was very purposefully clutching a piece of paper in his hand and standing petrified by narrow aisle, his entire posture painfully awkward. Alex tried to take a step back and realized that there was an entire wall of bookshelf blocking her. Regulus cleared his throat.

"Sorry," the boy managed another squeak before sprinting away from the scene of the crime. Alex's cheeks began to flush the darkest shade of red yet to be seen. She raised her eyes to his face before quickly looking down again, feeling impossibly embarrassed. Did they just—

"C'mon," Regulus muttered, grabbing her hand gently and pulling her with him. Alex followed mutely. As they reached the reading hall she attempted to let go of his hand, but to no avail; Regulus looked at her questioningly.

"Can we do this?" her voice sounded strange to her ears, low, hoarse, someone else's. She looked at their linked hands. A smile began to spread on Regulus' face before he quickly schooled it into something blander, but his eyes still crinkled at the edges.

"Of course we can," he said. "If you want." He gave her a moment. She didn't let go. He led her toward the table where they usual sat and began to pack up his belongings. Alex followed the suit uncertainly. The ink on her quill had long since dried, and her parchment had rolled up on their own accord due to time. How much time had passed—minutes? Hours? The sun had completely set outside and many students had already left for dinner.

"Where are we going?" Alex asked as they left the library. Regulus had retaken her hand was heading toward the staircases.

"Seventh floor," he said. "Where we won't get interrupted."

They reached the seventh floor in record time. Alex looked around the corridor uncertainly, but Regulus simply grinned and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. A door soon appeared in front of them that looked like a door of any other classroom. Alex frowned, but the sight of the room revealed to her when Regulus held out the door made her simply stare in astonishment.

The room was cozily decorated with several armchairs and a sofa. A plush rug lay in front of the fire burning cheerfully in the fireplace. There was even a table with several books on its surface overlooking the Hogwarts grounds through a large window. Several lamps lighted the room softly from many corners. Alex looked around, her body relaxing as the tension left her body. Regulus meanwhile had closed the door behind her and sat comfortably on the sofa.

"What is this place?" Alex asked.

"I'm not sure," Regulus said. "I was talking to the house elves in the kitchen several weeks ago when they mentioned something about a funny room on the seventh floor. It took me a few tries to figure out exactly what it does—it's a room that meets the needs of the people entering it, I think."

"And you asked for—"

"A bit of privacy, a bit of comfort," Regulus said, smiling. "Are you really going to stand there all night?"

Alex swallowed. "Are we going to be here all night?"

Regulus' smile widened, showing his teeth. "Only if you want to," he said. He laughed at Alex's alarmed expression. Alex scowled.

"Not funny."

"That's because you didn't see your face," Regulus said, still chortling.

"You're in a good mood."

"Oh, the best." His tone was still airy. Alex slowly sat down next to him, conscious of the way the cushion of the sofa gave in to her weight.

"Does this mean that you forgive me?" Regulus stopped chuckling and looked at her face intently for a few seconds, as if he was trying to decipher something in her expression. Alex drew her face back, feeling self-conscious. Something in Regulus' eyes softened.

"Alex," he said, stroking her hair. "I forgave you even before you first apologized." Alex looked up, feeling the former outrage rise up again despite everything.

"Then why didn't you even talk to me for a week?" she said, her voice rising with every syllable. "I was so worried that you didn't ever want to speak to me again—"

"It still hurt," Regulus said, now looking away. "That you didn't trust me. I understood why you felt that way, but still—" he shook his head. "But that's over. Past is past. I much prefer the present. Especially now." He smiled widely at her, completely unabashed at his joy, and Alex felt the infectiousness of the emotion affect her as well. When he drew himself closer to her and put his arms around her shoulders, she let her body mold into his. Regulus buried his face in her hair, and they watched the fire flickering in the fireplace in silence.

"It's odd," she said after a while. "I don't think I've seen your smile during all the time I've known you."

Regulus paused. "Is it hideous?" came the unexpected question. Alex tried to shift in her position, but his arms tightened around her, holding her back. Alex frowned at his forearms.

"Of course not," she said, upset. "Why would you ever think that?"

"I don't know." His voice came out muffled from her hair. "It's like you said, isn't it? I don't smile much. I don't see it when I do. I always had an idea that I had a terrible smile."

Alex reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles the way he kissed hers at the Hospital Wing. "That's the sillies thing I've ever heard," she said. "You have the nicest smile I know."

Regulus shifted slightly from behind her, and Alex could tell that he was trying not to be too pleased by what she said. "Just nice?" he asked offhandedly. Alex rolled her eyes.

"Just nice," Alex confirmed. Regulus let out a bark of laugh.

"Well, then," he said. "I guess you'll just have to deal with my nice smiles." Alex squeezed his hand.

"Oh, the horror," she said. "A smiling Regulus Black. How will the world react?"

"It'll stop spinning," Regulus answered gravely. "Merlin will rise from his grave and remind the whole world to stop me from smiling because it goes against the basic rules of nature."

"I hope not—I'm rather fond of your smiles." This time, when Alex tried to turn around to see his face again, Regulus loosened his arms around her so that she could shift in her position. They were so close that their noses were touching. Alex reached her hand out to stroke his cheeks. Regulus' lips pulled back automatically in response.

"Why thank you, Miss Wilson," he said, his smile growing wider at her name. "I'm rather fond of yours as well." Then their lips met again and Regulus' nice smiles became the last thing on Alex's mind.

Their proximity initially made her feel out of her element and scared, but time spent in Regulus' arms made her feel more comfortable—to a degree. It didn't stop her from freezing momentarily when their position changed and she found him lying on top of her, supporting only a part of his weight with his forearms. Alex resisted the impulse to push him as far away from her as possible and instead pulled him closer to her, relishing and cringing simultaneously at his moan. Regulus was—warm—and—she really had no reason to push him away. But she couldn't deny the slightest wave of relief that she felt when Regulus drew back to look at her face carefully.

"You're hungry," he stated matter-of-factly. Alex frowned and crawled back into a sitting position.

"What?"

"I meant for food," Regulus explained. "I think I just heard—" Her stomach growled at that exact moment. Alex's eyes widened in embarrassment as Regulus grinned.

"What a horrible person I am," he said, getting off the sofa. "Keeping you away from nourishment."

"You—" Alex said, springing at him to mask her embarrassment, but Regulus merely laughed and drew her close to him again.

"I didn't notice until now, but I'm hungry, too," he said, pecking her nose. "I think if we hurry, we might find something left over at the great hall."

"Fine," Alex grumbled. "But if we miss the bread pudding, I'm going to put all the blame on you."

Neither of them remembered the way to the great hall, or what they had for dinner. Alex was aware of the bright yellow lights, the clear sky behind the enchanted ceiling (it was in fact raining that night), and Regulus' legs brushing against her none-too-subtly during the entire dinner as he sat next to her, piling things on her plate with pecks on her cheek. She did not see how the great hall was almost empty by the time that they were finished or how other students avoided looking at their direction out of discretion and a bit of embarrassment. Regulus held her hand on their way to the Slytherin common room, neither of them saying anything in particular but just breathing in the air that the other was breathing in. Alex murmured the password and opened the door, but before she could go in Regulus pulled her close and gave her a long kiss. Alex smiled widely as they broke away.

"I wish that we didn't have to go in," Regulus muttered. Alex squeezed his hand and pulled him into the common room, also feeling reluctant.

"Good night," she said softly, suddenly feeling impossibly shy as they stood at the staircases to their rooms. Regulus let go of her hand and didn't say anything, his face quite impassive, but the momentary crinkle in his eyes told her everything that she wanted to hear. Alex turned around and climbed up the stairs, feeling more light-hearted than she'd felt in years. When she reached the door to her room, she paused, trying to compose her feelings. But the sound coming from the room made her open the door more quickly than she intended.

"What's going on?" Alex said, holding the wand in her hand. There was a mess. Books thrown about everywhere, pillows trampled to their sorry state on the ground, and Alex thought there was a very strong scent of Rebecca's perfume in the air. Leila stood by the bathroom with a wild look in her eyes, her wand hand shaking. Rebecca was standing near her bed, looking annoyed and tense. Her face showed clear relief at Alex's arrival.

"Thank Merlin," she said. "Talk some sense into her. She won't listen to me—"

"LISTEN TO YOU?" Leila screeched, laughing hysterically. " _Listen_ to you? I just saw you in bed with Evan!" Leila turned abruptly to Alex. "Hello, Alex. In case you're wondering, I just caught this… _thing_ here in her bed with Evan. Who, if you don't recall—let me refresh your memory—is _my boyfriend_." The last two words were directed at Rebecca, who looked rather put out and irritated.

"Maybe you're confused, Leila," she said. " _He_ was in bed with me, not the other way around. _He_ chose to be here. _I_ 'm not the one you should be getting angry at." Leila looked disbelievingly at Rebecca.

"Can you believe her?" she asked Alex. "Say something!"

"Erm," Alex, feeling the floating balloon called her brain slowly sinking back to earth. "How long has this been going on?" Immediately Rebecca's face crumpled—this was obviously the wrong question to ask—and Leila's face gained a new light of accusation.

"HOW LONG, REBECCA?" she screamed at Rebecca, whose face was beginning to gain a tint of discomfort. She mumbled something under her breath, but Leila, having gained exceptional hearing in the process of her accusations, yelled in disbelief.

"A _month_? It's been a MONTH?" She raised her wand. "That's it. _Corpus langi_ —"

"Stop, stop," Alex said, rushing to redirect Leila's wand. "Go," she said to Rebecca. "I think the sixth-years have a spare bed in their room." Leila quickly left the room, looking more irritated at the nuisance of having to sleep in a different room than actually contrite. Leila sank to her bed, burying her face in her hands and sobbing. Alex sat next to her cautiously, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly and racking her brain for something that would've been fitting to the situation. But she couldn't come up with anything other than—

"I'm sorry, Leila."

"Don't bother," Leila said, blowing her nose hard into her sleeves. "He's obviously not worth it."

"There you go," Alex said. "He's not worth it."

"The thing is," Leila said, swallowing thickly. "He was clear from the beginning. It was supposed to be a bit of fun, and then I was stupid enough to—" she began to cry in earnest and Alex handed her a box of tissues.

"It's not stupid," Alex said. "Liking someone. It's just—human. Rosier was just horrible enough to take advantage of it."

"Well, I'm not making that mistake again. I'm sick of boys who don't even respect me." She looked up at Alex's face. "I'm sorry that I ignored you all last week."

Alex smiled faintly and rubbed her shoulders. "It's okay," she said.

"And I hope that things with Regulus go better than how _this_ ended," Leila waved her hand at the room. "But to be honest, Alex, I don't really think that you can trust any of them."

Alex could only smile weakly at Leila's tear-stained face and rub her shoulders a bit more. It was probably a very bad time to mentioned what had happened—as Alex watched Leila trudge into the bathroom after she had cried to the last teardrop, however, she realized that she could not name one single person who would be happy to hear about the new development in their relationship.

* * *

A/N: So this is one of the shorter chapters, and a rather descriptive one at that—I don't know how it turned out! Just wanted to thank all the reviewers for their kind words and, of course, the readers—ciao.

To _Sirius_ (because I didn't realize that I could just respond to your comment here until now): thank you for your reviews! The way you're always connecting the dots makes me really happy (there's someone who got it! They got it!). I guess one thing for the moment: no, I don't envision it as a love triangle, although I did toy with it as a very strong possibility (you saw right through me). I think there is a possibility of something developing, but not at the present.

To _natalia_ (because I couldn't answer you personally): thank you for your interest and encouragement! I'm glad you're happy with the pace of the story and how it's developing (I always worry about those two things, and it was nice to hear about them). And as a person trying to learn a foreign language, I can only say that I wish my German were as good as your English is. Thanks again and I hope you liked the chapter!


	26. Chapter 26

If someone asked Regulus Black when the next Holyhead Harpies game was, he would not have been able to answer.

This supposition was proven true one late November afternoon as he lounged in an armchair in the Slytherin common room, aimlessly staring at the fire and suppressing small smiles that found their way back on his face. Alex had detention again, and she'd left an hour ago with a half-hearted wave and an embarrassed kiss on his cheek. He just hoped that she didn't have to go anywhere cold; the winter was quickly bringing its freezing air by night, and—

"When's the next Holyhead Harpies game?"

Regulus looked up without recognition for a few seconds, trying to connect the voice to the person in front of him who just slumped into the nearby sofa.

"I don't know," he said, beginning to feel that there was something wrong with him. He didn't know. What didn't he know? The Holyhead Harpies. Game. Quidditch game. He _always_ knew when the Holyhead Harpies were playing; one of the best teams in the country, arguably the world, merited that much attention. And now he was telling Leila Parkinson that he didn't know when their next game was. Something was wrong. But the heat from the fire felt so warm, and Alex was going to come back in less than two hours, nothing could possibly be wrong.

"Funny," Leila crumpled up her face, peering into her Quidditch notebook. "You always know. You're paranoid about it, actually."

Regulus decided to let the comment slide. Ever since the Parkinson-Rosier pair had broken up, the Parkinson part of the pair was becoming more and more… ah, vocal. Even more vocal than usual, which Regulus did not think was possible until it happened. "HH is your favorite team, not mine," he said, turning his face back to the fire. Leila scoffed.

Regulus raised his eyebrows. "Problem?"

Leila shrugged. "I dunno, Black." Leila was possibly the only person in the Slytherin house other than Alex who dared to call him Black—again, another recent development that came with the break-up. Regulus shook his head internally. Even _he_ thought that Evan Rosier was not a person worth getting this much upset over, and he was a boy.

Leila evidently got bored from their exchanged and soon left—presumably to consult the _Daily Prophet_ Sports section. Regulus went back to his previous position in the armchair, staring at the fire silently.

He couldn't tell when the next Holyhead Harpies game was. He could barely remember when the next "corridor meeting" was. He had an essay of some sort due the day after tomorrow—yes, he worked on it this afternoon in the library. With Alex. Alex, who had a bit more sense than him and avoided snogging anywhere near the library, instead choosing to get her work done. Alex, whose schedule he remembered better than his own. Regulus shook his head in dismay. He had to get a grip.

But he forgot this resolve when Alex finally came back, breaking him from his ruminations.

"Hello," she said shyly, leaning against the armrest. Regulus snaked his arm around her and pulled her on his lap. Unresisting, Alex rested her head at the crook of his neck and snuggled closer to him. Regulus tightened his arms around her, trying to get as close to her warmth as possible. She smelled faintly of the forest mist, the snow, and…

"Something for the groundkeeper?" Regulus mumbled. Alex responded by nodding, which resulted in her snuggling even closer.

"The Christmas trees were ready," she said. "So we had to—" yawn— "chop them down and—leave them at a safe place to dry for a couple of days. And then a bunch of decorating done in the Great Hall. You'll be surprised tomorrow morning." She poked him playfully in his side, but Regulus couldn't help but notice that her lips on his neck were still cool. He cradled her head in his hands and patted her hair. Damn the Holyhead Harpies and the rest—as if they could ever make him happy.

So the days passed by before his eyes, one after the other, but to Regulus time itself felt like Honeydukes turned into a long, unceasing tunnel where they could walk together for a couple of hours, stop by some stations, and, after a brief interim of sleep, continue walking down the tunnel again, always delighted by something new, something familiar, something unexpected. He'd stopped counting the hours, the days, the weeks. The Quidditch match against the Ravenclaws came as a complete surprise in early December, and the Slytherin won the game—a precariously narrow victory. Exams should have been more expected, but Regulus couldn't remember what argument he had made in the History of Magic essay. The last Christmas meal. And then—

"I can't sit there."

Alex, who had bashed her head against thew window from springing away from Regulus, attempted to rub her head discreetly. "Hello, Leila," she said.

"Hello, Parkinson," Regulus echoed, feeling the sudden lack of weight on his laps. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Really," Leila drawled drily. "We're all on the same train, if you've forgotten."

"Thanks for the reminder," Regulus couldn't entirely keep sarcasm out of his voice. Alex, who'd recovered from the injury, sat down gingerly at some safe distance from Regulus.

"Leila," she said slowly, "what's going on?"

"That… thing and that… other thing are getting it going. In the Slytherin compartment, I mean," Leila said, frowning distastefully. Regulus rubbed his eyes tiredly. Parkinson couldn't even say their names out loud. Alex, meanwhile, gave her a sympathetic smile and patted on the seat next to her.

"I'm just glad that my grandmother decided to get sick this winter," Leila muttered. "Whole family's going to Italy for fresh air. I won't be seeing either of _them_ until the school starts again."

"I'll keep you posted," Regulus muttered, still disgruntled. Leila threw him a dirty look.

"I don't know what you see in him," she said to Alex, who merely grinned.

"He's an acquired taste." At Regulus' irritated look, she laughed out loud.

Rebecca opened a Quidditch magazine and began to browse through the new brooms catalogue. Alex, watching the scenery outside, soon fell asleep with her head resting against the window. Regulus watched silently, thinking about how her slightly swollen lips felt on his only half an hour ago, the family events that awaited him at home, the gloomy prospect of Grimmauld Place that had lost its festive light in the recent years…

"Something from the trolley, m'dears?" the trolley witch's entrance had escaped his notice. His eyes automatically went to Alex, who'd been sleeping.

"Let her sleep," Leila muttered, reaching for her coin purse. "She's been studying until two for about a week now. _Someone_ 's been distracting her from studying. Two pumpkin pastries, two pumpkin juices, and a chocolate frog, please."

"I can get hers," Regulus said. Leila shrugged.

"She'll feel better about getting it from me," she said. Regulus looked away, annoyed.

"Three pumpkin pastries, please," he said to the trolley lady. Leila gave him a look.

"Edge likes pumpkin," Regulus said.

"That annoying little owl likes anything that it can peck," Leila shot back. Regulus ignored this particular jibe. The trolley lady left. Leila opened the package disinterestedly and sniffed at the pastry inside.

"You have a problem with me, Parkinson?" Regulus said, watching Leila take a cautious bite.

Leila didn't answer, and Regulus thought that she hadn't heard what he said. She chewed slowly, as if trying to discern every ingredient in the baked good, and Regulus opened his mouth irritably to ask the question again when Leila swallowed and said nonchalantly, "of course I do."

Regulus raised his eyebrow. Leila didn't volunteer any further information.

"What do you mean?" he was thus forced to ask. Regulus didn't like having to pry for answers. Blacks didn't pry for answers, for Merlin's sake.

"Alex," Leila said, "is quite possibly the stupidest girl I know. I mean, she's quite intelligent, I suppose, and rather nice, but she's not Rebecca. She doesn't know a thing about manipulation," Leila gave him a significant look.

"That's obvious," Regulus said, even more irritated.

"In short," Leila said calmly, "she deserves better than to be dragged into your mess."

" _My_ mess?"

"The Black family mess," Leila clarified. Regulus stiffened his back and glared back at her.

"You can give me the 'oh-I'm-Black-and-mighty' look all you want," Leila said. "But did you even think about what being with you would mean for _her_?"

"That," Regulus said, "is none of your business."

"She's my friend, and she doesn't know what she's getting herself into. So I'm making it my business."

"You mean she's a useful shoulder to cry on when you need help. I didn't see you advertising your friendship before you realized what was going on with Rosier." His words were harsher than usual, Regulus knew, and had it been any other situation he might have been able to school himself. But this was his family and Alex, of all people, and both belonged to _him_ , not anyone else.

"Like you've been the model friend?" Leila drawled. "That was some action you pulled in fourth year." Regulus glowered back at her but didn't say anything. Fourth year was a mistake, even by his standards.

"I'm glad Alex's happy," Leila continued. "But in a few years, she's going to be out there looking for a job, and a place to live, and she needs someone stable. The second son of Black whose older brother is intent on burning the family house to the ground and whose parents can't even be in the same room with the "working people" isn't stable."

"That's the future," Regulus said. "We live in the present."

"Alright, so we live in the present," Leila said. "How does Alex feel about the "corridor meetings"? Is she even invited to the dinner party your parents are throwing?" Leila observed his reactions keenly. "Do your parents even know that their precious son has a girlfriend?" Regulus' lack of response was enough confirmation, and Leila leaned back into the seat and opened her Quidditch magazine, apparently finished with the conversation. Regulus stared at the cover of the magazine for several seconds, wishing that whatever Parkinson was reading would make her extremely unhappy. Leila, who may or may not know what was going on in Regulus' head, remained unmoved in her seat.

Several more tense hours passed until Alex stirred from her sleep.

"Where are we?" she asked groggily.

"About thirty minutes away," Regulus said, as Leila assured her "we still have half an hour." Regulus decided to spare her an annoyed glance.

"Ah," Alex said, slinking back into her seat. "That's—" whatever came after was covered by her large yawn.

"It's alright," Leila said assuringly. "Time enough to get changed into Muggle clothes. Here's a pumpkin pastry."

Alex stared dumbfounded at the large package suddenly in front of her face, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Enough," Regulus said. "Just let her get her bearings first."

"I'm sorry, Black," Leila said sarcastically. "Are you the world's foremost expert on the nutritional requirements of a growing fifteen-year-old? I didn't think so."

"Sixteen," Alex said groggily. Leila didn't respond. Regulus barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Barely.

"Parkinson, I don't think people without _sense_ should really be in charge of nutritional intake of a growing person, let alone my girlfriend—"

"ENOUGH," Alex said, whole body wobbling a bit as she stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'm going to change my clothes. Can both of you promise me that the compartment will remain intact when I get back?"

"It's Black who resorts to magic, Alex. All I ever do is articulate," Leila said sweetly.

"Yes, and when the said articulation contains strings of curses and jinxes, it's called using magic," Regulus muttered. Alex gave him a look. Regulus felt his cheeks flush very slightly. So she expected better of him. It pleased and embarrassed him at the same time. The door closed crankily behind her.

Regulus looked out the window. It was raining.

Leila insisted on possessing Alex for the rest of the train ride, an insistence that Regulus found out to his annoyance he could not overcome. So he listened to Parkinson's half-hearted attempt to weasel out what she was getting for Christmas from Alex, her recounting of the records of the Chudley Cannons (which contained, Regulus was loath to say, some information that he himself did not have), and her description of the little villa in Italy that "Alex should definitely see some time." Regulus doubted that Mr. Parkinson in particular would welcome visitors whose parents he didn't know, but Regulus decided to keep his mouth shut on that particular point. No need to have Parkinson firing off about his own parents. Regulus rubbed his brows. Maybe, maybe, he could bribe Sirius into keeping his mouth shut about Alex for just this break…

"We're here." Leila's announcement pulled him out of his pool of thoughts. Alex was already working on getting their trunks onto the floor.

"I'll see you in January, then," Alex said to Leila as they disembarked. "Have fun in Italy for me."

Leila rolled her eyes. "It's just another family house," she said.

"I've never been to Italy, so..."

"But who knows, I might find me a handsome Italian boy." Leila shrugged. "See you later, Wilson." Without further ado she walked in the direction of the crowd, pulling her large trunk behind her. Regulus watched her go with a raised eyebrow.

"Charming, that one," he said. Alex smiled wanly.

"She's just hurting," she said. "Trying to distract herself. You could try to be nicer to her, you know." Regulus grimaced.

"Let's change the topic," he suggested, not wanting to say out loud that as far as he was concerned Parkinson and her relationship problems could stay in the decrepit Italian villa until they rotted. "I think we were discussing something very important before she interrupted us."

Alex crinkled her brows. "Were we? But we were—" the end of her sentence was then reenacted in full public as Regulus bent down and kissed her.

After a while they came back for air. Alex blinked.

"Oh," she said. "That."

"I didn't get to have you for the train ride," Regulus said, unable to keep petulance out of his voice entirely. And he loved that he could be petulant with her, just a little… "I just wanted to say good-bye."

Alex smiled at him. "But I can't possibly not let you say good-bye," she said, drawing him closer to her again, her fingers playing idly with his hair. Her warmth felt especially nice in the cold winter air…

"Really?" Regulus murmured, nuzzling into her as her lips grazed his cheek. "I was just beginning to wonder if—"

"Alex!"

The sharp voice of Sophia Wilson broke them apart and the couple somehow managed to whip their heads into the same direction with a same innocent sort of a smile that wouldn't have fooled a five-year-old.

"Mom!" Alex said, looking torn between being genuinely happy to see her mother and being embarrassed. Based on her ears, Regulus judged embarrassment had won.

"Ms. Wilson," Regulus said, trying to keep his voice smooth. "It's nice to see you again."

Sophia Wilson's expression clearly indicated that it was not _nice_ to see _him_ again. "Regulus," she said curtly. "What a… surprise."

"And we really should get going!" Alex said, her voice shrill. "We really should. It's going to be a long drive, and Reg needs to find his parents, and we all need to go home—"

"Yes," Sophia Wilson said, still distastefully looking at Regulus. Regulus realized that the collar of his robes had become undone. "Let's go, Alex."

Alex gave him an apologetic look. Regulus grinned and, before she could say anything, planted a large kiss on her lips.

"Merry Christmas," he said, and made his way toward the crowd.

His mother was waiting for them, and a very disgruntled Sirius was looking way past the barriers of the station.

"You're late, Regulus," his mother said as a greeting.

"I'm sorry, Mother." Regulus said. "I had a business to attend to." Next to him Sirius scoffed loudly. Regulus discreetly stepped on his foot—hard. Sirius yelped.

"Well, then," his mother said stiffly. "We must get out of here. All the Muggles, they're positively filling the air with filth." Sirius opened his mouth, his back straightening in preparation for a fight. Regulus nudged him in the ribs hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. They began to move toward the exit.

"You," Sirius, still coughing, growled to his younger brother. "You just wait. I'd just love to see dear mummy's face when she learns that she might have to welcome a Wilson as her daughter-in-law."

"And I'm certain that you'll enjoy the evening with your fiancée at the Christmas dinner," Regulus said nonchalantly. "I've heard that she's grown into quite a beauty. Unless, of course, someone forgets to send her family an invitation."

Sirius made a disparaging noise. "Are you still in charge of that?"

"Do you want her at the party or not?"

Sirius glared at the ground. "I swear," he muttered. "If our mother's not the death of me, you'll be."

"Same to you, brother mine."

* * *

Sirius was fidgeting.

Not that Regulus could particularly blame him—the dress robes that Mother ordered for both of them were _tight_. Not just form-fitting, but tight enough to interfere with blood circulation—so tight, in fact, that Regulus wondered if his mother had, in a moment of—mental weakness—sent the last year's measurements to the tailor. But the state of the things was that the famous Black Christmas dinner party had already begun and that they couldn't possibly leave the table just to change the cravat. Regulus shifted his neck discreetly, trying to see if he could loosen the death grip that was the piece of cloth without anyone noticing. Sirius, on the other hand, had openly disposed of it after the first fifteen minutes. Their mother had given him a dirty look.

"What a handsome couple they make," Mrs. Black said dotingly to Uncle Cygnus, looking at the couple sitting a few seats away. Narcissa Black had finally decided to let Lucius Malfoy join the annual Black tradition. They ate silently, apparently having not much to say to each other and comfortable in each other's silence. Next to him Sirius let out a large snort. Regulus, on the other hand, watched his mother nervously. Something about the flickering of her eyes told him that she was not feeling as well as she said she was. He just hoped that the dinner would go smoothly.

"Don't you agree, _dear_?" Mrs. Black asked Mr. Black emphatically across the room. Regulus' lips tightened automatically. The discovery of Mr. Black's yet another paramour—a woman of some ill repute from Germany—occurred only that morning, and his mother was still sour about it. They both knew it was a loveless marriage, but a public flaunting of it was, in Mrs. Black's eyes—

"Oh, yes, perfectly," Mr. Black said, smiling too widely at his wife. "Absolutely."

Mrs. Black ignored his sarcasm and continued to tell Uncle Cygnus how wonderful the young couple's life would be and how she wished " _just the same_ " for her own children. Sirius' jaw clenched, and Regulus didn't fail to see it. But he didn't know what he could say to make it better. Sirius didn't like being engaged to a girl he rarely met. To be entirely frank, Regulus wouldn't really like being engaged to a girl he rarely met, either. But so it was for the Black heir—what could they do?

Sirius muttered something under his breath as Mrs. Black droned the importance of a woman's good breeding.

"What was that, darling?" Mrs. Black's voice was saccharine, but her look was anything but sweet. It challenged her eldest son to repeat whatever blasphemy he'd uttered.

"Nothing, Mother," Sirius said glumly. Sirius had struck a deal with Mrs. Black when the winter break started; she would let him go to the Potter's for January, _if_ he managed to behave well for December. Especially at public gatherings like this. And to visit his friend Sirius temporarily gave up his moralistic duty to correct every word that came out of his mother's mouth.

"Reggie darling," Sirius said over roast, "I can't possibly comprehend how you stand these things."

If Regulus was being honest, he was only half-listening to what his mother had been saying. The importance of breeding in women ceased to be an important issue halfway through the nineteenth century, as far as he was concerned. But he couldn't say _that_. Sirius would only bring it up later to make a point, usually against him. "But when is the wedding, Narcissa? It must be in June."

Narcissa smiled in a practiced manner and opened her mouth to respond, but her sister got better of her.

"Sooner," Bellatrix cackled. "March, at latest. We can't risk having her turning into our errant sister, after all." The mention of Andromeda Tonks, née Black, failed to go unrecognized by anyone in the dining room. A heavy silence fell on the participants of the dinner party.

"Well, good grief," rang Sirius' loud voice through the ancient hall. "That could only to Cissy world of good."

Heads slowly turned toward their direction. Regulus began to let out a stream of all the curses that he ever learned. He then realized that he had been shouting them inside his head only.

"C'mon," Sirius continued, either oblivious of everyone's reaction or choosing to ignore it, Regulus could never tell the difference. "Andy's happy with Tonks. They're even expecting their first child, you know that? The most Malfoy here can offer is a big mansion and a disappointing bed. What?" he said, looking directly at their mother. "Like we all don't know what's going on." Mrs. Black's face went paler than the finest sheet of parchment.

"Sirius, that's enough," Regulus murmured at his plate. Sirius pretended not to have heard him.

"And how can you bear it, Uncle Cygnus?" Sirius taunted. "You're going to be a grand-daddy of a half-blood You should be ashamed of yourself. Didn't you have enough guts to have your daughter _taken care of_? That's what you do to everything wrong in the world, isn't it? Kill them. Slaughter every last Muggle on earth. So why didn't you take care of your own daughter?"

Uncle Cygnus' face gained the violent shade of plum that he was so famous for. "Young man," he said, his voice shaking, "I'll give you one last chance to apologize."

Unfortunately, Sirius was all fired up now. "You know, at least that baby won't have a mental problem. Unlike your other daughter. Bellatrix, how _are_ you feeling this fine evening? Sure that there's no impossible scratch on your brain?"

Bellatrix stood up so quickly that all the silverware on the table rattled. " _You_ ," she hissed, "what are you saying, that I'm mental?"

"Oh, look at that," Sirius answered airily. "A moment of clarity."

"Sirius, stop it," Regulus said, his voice stronger, but he was still not looking at his brother. Instead, he was looking at his mother, the way her pupils dilated dangerously in her gray eyes, the eyes that he and Sirius shared, the way her body went impossibly, inhumanly still. Her wand was—in her grasp. Oh, Merlin. Regulus turned toward his father, but he was simply reclining back in his chair, looking bored by his elder son's antiques, as if this was just another banal phase that children had to go through. Regulus couldn't look up at Sirius' face. He was afraid to see what was there—hatred and disdain. Disdain for him.

"You!" Bellatrix screamed, whipping her wand out. "I'll show you, I'll show you who's better! _Expul_ —" She was pulled back by Narcissa, who managed to drag her sister back to her seat. Neither Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband, nor Malfoy had gotten up to interfere.

"Oh, look at that," Sirius said sarcastically. "At least I'm not pulled down by Reggie here." Then Sirius did the worst thing he could do and turned toward Regulus. "You aren't going to hold me back, are you, Reg?"

"Sirius," Regulus said quietly. "Stop this."

"Like _you_ can stop me," Sirius said. "Oh, by the way, Mum? I think you'd better prepare your family tree for another blasting. Reg might marry a half-blood. You might remember her. Alexandra Wilson." There was no sign of recognition on Mrs. Black's face. No change in her face whatsoever. Then her nostrils flared.

Regulus tried to master his expression into something—bland. But how could he be bland? No expression at this moment would be suitable. No surprise, no anger, no disappointment—nothing would be acceptable. What was he even supposed to say?

"Sorry, Reggie," Sirius said obnoxiously. "But you see, I got my part of the deal when my fiancée didn't come. I guess I'm just letting everything go to hell now. Mother certainly won't let me spend the summer at Potter's."

And at this exact moment, Kreacher managed to walk into the dining room, ignorant of all the proceedings of the past five minutes.

"Madame," he said, respectfully bowing to Mrs. Black, "the pudding's ready. Would you like it served with—"

"Kreacher!" Sirius' voice boomed. "Good ol' Kreacher. Did you know that he's supposed to do anything I tell him to? Even if I tell him to go and kill himself. Did you know that?" Again no one answered. There was no sound in the room expect for Bellatrix' huffs from being thwarted from her attack.

"What, no one believe me?" Sirius said in mock disbelief. "Well then. Kreacher, do kindly go to the oven and burn your hands. Come back and show us."

"Kreacher," Regulus said sharply. "My brother's not in the right state of his mind. Don't pay him any attention." At this counter-command Kreacher visibly relaxed, but his shaking legs told Regulus that ignoring Sirius' words still had negative effects on the poor house-elf. Kreacher glared at Sirius.

"I'm proving a point!" Sirius shouted when he saw the chastising look from his little brother. "Purebloods can order these things to do anything—anything—and none of you think it's wrong! And you say that _I_ 'm not in the right state of mind? The one who's mental is our mother!"

"Sirius Orion Black," Mrs. Black spoke up for the first time since the one-sided argument. "Apologize to everyone here you've offended, and go to your room."

Sirius gritted his teeth. "No."

"Apologize, and go to your room."

"No," Sirius repeated, his stance resolute. "I'm not listening to you or anyone mental anymore."

"Sirius," Mr. Black said warningly from across the table. "Watch what you say."

"It's the truth!" Sirius shouted. "Dear old mum's clinically deranged, and everyone knows it! Just because we can't stand to lose our face, we just ignore it for the better part of our lives. And Bellatrix—oh, sweet Bellatrix, I think there hasn't been a day in her life when she didn't feel an impulse to kill someone! In case you don't know, Bellatrix, _that's not normal_. And everyone else here is just trying to cover everything up and say everything's okay, even when it's not. It's not okay to have mental patients in your family, it's not okay to have disgusting house-elves in your homes, it's not okay to have arranged marriages with complete strangers, and it's not okay to support a blood-thirsty wannabe tyrant like Lord Voldemort. Yes, I dare to say his name." As he spoke, the giant chandelier over the table began to shake and rattle—at first imperceptibly, but the crystal beads clang together more and more until there was a screeching cacophony of crystals.

Then the largest piece exploded, followed by hundred other crystal beads that enveloped and evolved around the centerpiece.

Regulus felt things graze his cheek. Sharp stings came on his cheeks, his brows, his hands. A cursory glance told him that most people had the sense to duck, including Sirius. Only their mother sat as she had, shivering uncontrollably. Regulus swallowed. This couldn't be—

"OUT!" she screeched. "ALL OF YOU! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Lestrange and Malfoy complied at once, leading their wife and wife-to-be out the nearest exit. Other relatives quickly followed. Mr. Black had stood up and began to make his way toward his wife, but he wasn't quick enough.

"Walburga, calm down," he said, almost exasperated, but Mrs. Black was beyond hearing.

"YOU!" she screamed, turning toward Sirius. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT A DISGRACE YOU ARE? INSULTING YOUR MOTHER, INSULTING YOUR FAMILY—"

"It's not my family, you were never my family!" Sirius shouted. "What kind of family does this?"

Mrs. Black screamed, and something hurled past Regulus' ear. It took him a few moments to realize that their mother had thrown silverware with her bare hands. Sirius gritted his teeth. A knife was thrown into the wall, followed by the champagne flute and carving knife. Sirius gritted his teeth.

"That's it," he said. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH. I'M LEAVING. I hope you're very happy here in your beloved home." Without further comment Sirius turned his back and began to stalk out of the room. Mrs. Black raised her hand again.

"No—" Regulus said, lunging toward Sirius without thinking. A burning pain seared across his back and both brothers stumbled. Sirius looked around in disbelief.

"Go!" Mr. Black said, finally at his wife's side. "I'll hold her—stay away until she calms down." Neither needed more convincing and they set out toward the stairs, the third floor where their rooms were. Regulus lagged behind, out of breath from the fresh wound. When he reached the top floor, however, the sight in front of him stopped his breath altogether.

Sirius dragged his trunk from his room.

"What are you doing?" Despite everything, his voice was very calm.

Sirius didn't look at him. Regulus didn't think he was looking at anything. "Like I said. I'm leaving."

Regulus frowned. "No, you're not," he said matter-of-factly. Sirius going away—ridiculous. This was just supposed to be another one of the arguments. Regular. Insignificant.

"Yes, I am," Sirius said emphatically. "Don't try to stop me."

Regulus barely had the strength to tell Sirius that he couldn't stop him even if he wanted to. The wound on his back was beginning to ache. "Where will you go?" he gasped. "Think this through, Sirius. You'll regret this."

"No, I won't." Sirius shook his head viciously. "Haven't you seen what a mental case our mum is? What kind of a man our father is?"

 _I do, Sirius. But they're our parents, and we're family, and we're supposed to stick together, no matter what. Even if you insist on ruining every Christmas dinner and Mother insists on scarring her children. We're family._

But words were impossible for him now. Regulus frowned and leaned against the wall.

"Well, then," Regulus said. "Maybe it's not a bad idea to—put a bit of distance. Cool your head. Think about it."

"I don't need to think about it. I packed _days_ ago. I was just—" Sirius looked away, looking slightly abashed for the first time. _Looking for the right time_. Regulus didn't need the sentence completed to know what he was going to say.

"Fine, then," Regulus said softly. "But you should know that—this isn't some heroic stunt that you're pulling. This isn't a grand gesture. It's you being rebellious and saying that you're better than everyone else—and in the end you're just—" his last words were cut from him as a violent fit of coughing seized him. _You're just abandoning me. Your own brother_. But perhaps it was better that Sirius didn't know how much it hurt.

Sirius looked at his brother with pity and revulsion. "You're just as stupid and impossible as the rest of them. Can't you see that they're wrong? That they're bigots headed toward their destruction? I'm just trying to do the right thing and live a better life. To serve justice and peace." And without anything else—not even a handshake, for Merlin's sake—Sirius began to climb down the stairs, head held high. Regulus tried to follow him and say something hurtful, but the injury slowed him down. When he finally reached the landing, the front door was wide open and Sirius was long gone.

Regulus turned around and saw his father also staring out at the empty street.

"He's gone," Regulus said unnecessarily. It felt unreal. Mr. Black nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said. "He told me that much."

"But he can't be."

Mr. Black sighed but didn't say anything more on the matter. "Your mother's quieted down a bit. Kreacher gave her the usual potions, and now she's sleeping it off." Regulus nodded numbly.

"Any damage?" Regulus asked, feeling silly for asking. Sirius was gone. Everything else was—

"Yes," Mr. Black said. "Your mother burned a hole through the family tree." Regulus frowned in confusion and twisted around to see his father's face. His pale skin was ghostly in the moonlight, and there was no life in his gray eyes. Despite his health and age, he looked like the death itself.

"Congratulations, Regulus," he said. "You're the next heir of the family."

And then he lost all consciousness.

* * *

A/N Thanks to all those reviewed/followed:)


	27. Chapter 27

A/N Phew! It's been a while since I've updated. I dare not give reasons for this tardiness, but I do think a recap of last chapter might be helpful: fifth-year Christmas holiday, Sirius ran away, Regulus is the new heir. Now we move to the Wilson household...

* * *

Alex hadn't experienced a car ride this uncomfortable since the first drive to London, where her mother and she got supplies for Hogwarts. That first summer when she learned that she was a witch and that life would never be the same again.

This time it was worse. Because now, unlike then, Alex knew what she did wrong. Even though she didn't think it was wrong.

"So," Alex said jollily, looking at the darkness outside, "a long drive, huh?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Abrupt, direct. Alex wished that there was another way of doing this.

"I knew you wouldn't like it," she mumbled, looking down at her hands.

"I don't."

"I _knew_ that," Alex said, "but—I like him, mum. Couldn't you at least try to like him?"

"No."

Frustration began to creep up from her heart, stuffing whatever pathway there was before stinging her eyes. "Why not?" she said. "If you just got to know him—he's really kind, and smart, and funny—"

"And also clueless, arrogant, and completely unapologetic about his status, which he did nothing to earn."

"You never even talked to him! How can you know any of this, if you've never even talked to him?"

"I get enough from what you've told me," Sophia said, gritting her teeth.

"I didn't tell you everything, mum…" Alex said tiredly, but realized as soon as she uttered her last word that it was a wrong thing to say. Sophia Wilson's eyes flashed.

"So you feel completely comfortable with him? Like you can tell him anything?" The accusation in her voice was clear. And Alex opened her mouth to tell her mother that yes, Regulus did make her feel comfortable, but she hesitated.

She could defend Regulus Black from accusations that he was clueless and arrogant and completely unapologetic about his status—they were all true. But that didn't make Regulus a bad person; it just made him a little naïve despite his cynical view of the society that he came from. Regulus never properly talked to a Muggleborn, or considered a possibility that he might be wrong, or that his future was uncertain. But Alex also believed that this was something that would be fixed in due time, as Regulus met more people. But comfortable? She was—always a little bit nervous around him, a little excited, a little hesitant. Sometimes she thought that Regulus would take something she said the wrong way, or that he wouldn't approve of something she did. But wasn't it like that in all relationships?

Unfortunately, Alex's visible hesitation was all the confirmation Sophia Wilson needed.

"He doesn't understand you," she said. "He can't understand you, because he has no idea where you're coming from—"

"Mom, would you just stop?" Alex said exasperatedly. "We're—we just started this, and we don't know where it's going to go yet."

"Oh, really?" Sophia Wilson's said sarcastically. "Don't tell me that the little brat doesn't have everything planned out for his own advantage." The memory of Regulus telling her that three years were relatively a short period of time came back to her and again Alex hesitated. She hated that she hesitated.

"Let me guess?" Sophia continued. "Going to join the precious league of Death Eaters and serve Lord Voldemort? Is that what you want, Alex?"

"Mom, we've just started," Alex said. "We're figuring things out. You can't just go and make all these presumptions—"

"Are you calling me presumptuous, Alexandra Wilson?" her mother's tone was mercilessly cool. Alex felt her frustration threatening to escape through her eyes.

"That's not what I meant!" she yelled.

"Don't start yelling," Sophia Wilson snapped.

"You're not listening to me," Alex said. "Whenever I bring him up, you get this ugly look on your face, you know that? You're not even willing to consider that Regulus might have decent qualities, or that he might have his difficulties, too. Did you ever consider that he's the only friend I have? Does that say nothing about what kind of a person he is?"

"It tells me that he's a self-entitled brat who picks easy targets to share his woes with," Sophia Wilson shot back.

Alex felt something sting her eyes, but she didn't want to show it in front of her mother, who was going to use all weakness she saw to her advantage, anyway. "I'm so glad you think so highly of me, Mom," she said coolly. "So I'm just an easy target, is it?"

"Yes!" Sophia shouted back in frustration. "You're just letting him take advantage of you, just because he's a slightly good-looking boy who showed remote interest in you—"

"Have you considered that he actually cares for me? Is that so hard to believe?" Alex was brought back to the argument that she and Reg had not few months ago, when he accused her of not trusting him enough about his feelings for her. How did the argument spiral off to this direction—

"You're sixteen! You don't know what you feel!"

"I'm only two years younger than when you decided go run off with Dad!" Alex shouted. Her words felt foreign to her ears. Sophia Wilson froze in her seat.

"I'm sorry?" she said impossibly calmly.

"It's not that hard to figure out," the words were being spat out of her mouth, except she didn't recognize the person spitting out the words. "You ran off with a Slytherin boy. Dad. Your parents decided never to speak to you again. And then he left. And you think, because Dad did this to you, Regulus is going to do the same thing."

The air inside the car couldn't have been warmer than the air outside. "He is going to do the same thing." Sophia Wilson said eventually.

"I'm not you," Alex said.

"No, you're not me," Sophia Wilson said, her voice shaking. "My parents told me my entire life to look out for types like him. They told me that I could never trust a Slytherin. I knew better, but I did it anyway, and I've regretted it for the past sixteen years. You don't know. You never had anyone telling you that they were bad for you. So I'm telling you know, and you should listen. Regulus Black will never learn what it means to do something for someone else. He'll never be there for you."

"That's not true.'

"He won't," Sophia Wilson said. "He never learned how, and he never will."

"So I'm just not worth that much effort?" Alex said. "Is that what you're saying, Mum?"

"I'm not saying it's anything about you!" Sophia Wilson screamed. "It's him, it's his fault—"

"And the fact that he's the only friend that I have? That says so much about me, doesn't it, that the only friend I have will never even care for me—"

"You're young, you never know—"

"And why do you think that I will have to go through the same thing that you did?" Alex cried tearfully. "Maybe Regulus does care for me, and maybe he won't let me down, and maybe he won't leave me alone with a child that you apparently regretted having for the last sixteen years!"

"STOP BEING SO STUPID—"

"Don't call me stupid, and stop yelling at me!" Alex screamed. "I've had enough. I've had enough."

" _Fine_ ," Sophia Wilson snapped. And even though all Alex wanted her mother to do was to just say something else—that everything was alright—that she wasn't mad at her—or even just hold her, and they would say that they were sorry to each other—her mother just drove on. When they reached the old house, she simply got out of the car and slammed the door behind her, leaving Alex to shiver in the car with a dying engine.

And it was on the day of Christmas Eve, when Alex had finished shoveling the driveway, that her mother came to the front door with a stony look.

"The Order has been in touch," she said. "They need someone to look in to the recent disturbance in southern France. I need to go."

"Let me guess, you didn't want to get out of it," Alex said. Sophia Wilson's face didn't change.

"I have to leave within the hour," she said coldly. "You'll Floo back to Hogwarts. Minerva already knows about this. Go upstairs and pack." Without waiting for an answer, her mother turned around and went back into the house. Alex trudged after her, feeling the cold snow melt insider her boots.

There hadn't been much to pack. Even less to say, apparently. It wasn't until Alex grasped the rough powder in her palm that she realized that she couldn't just go without saying nothing else.

"Hurry," her mother said. "The floo network to this house will close in five minutes."

Alex sighed. "When are you coming back to England?" she asked, staring at the fireplace. No answer came from behind her, and Alex turned around, unwilling to face her mother. For the first time since the break, there was something in her mother's face that Alex could actually rely on—regret. Regret that she herself felt.

"It won't be long," her mother said quietly. Alex nodded and stepped into the fireplace.

"Merry Christmas, Mum," she said before throwing the powder to the ground. "Hogwarts!" The last image that she saw was her living room that she'd never seen from that angle and the blurry vision of her mother crying.

"Good morning, Miss Wilson," McGonagall's usual crisp voice greeted her.

"Hullo, Professor," Alex glumly answered.

"Just one question—" The regulation of the student body had gotten stricter since the troll attack in Northumberland a week ago. Alex nodded, sitting on a chair in front of McGonagall's desk.

"We first met when—"

"You came to talk to my mom about letting me go to Hogwarts." Alex said, frowning at the memory of her mother almost falling to her knees and holding her impossibly tight. As if she were sending her daughter to her last battle.

"Good," McGonagall nodded. Alex paused, wondering how she could put her thoughts into words.

"Is the Order short of men?"

McGonagall, who had been looking over some documents on her desk, looked up sharply and gave Alex a piercing look. "I beg your pardon, Miss Wilson?" she said.

"Is the Order—"

"You can't speak of it. Not even here. Especially not here. Hogwarts is—" McGonagall stopped herself, obviously reluctant to admit the fact that no one wanted to speak about. Hogwarts wasn't safe anymore. The new security measure spoke for itself.

"Sending a member on a mission on Christmas Eve, though. That's a bit too far, isn't it?" Alex said, trying to control her anger. McGonagall looked out the window at the snowy landscape.

"Professor Dumbledore had his reasons," McGonagall said. "Besides, Sophia was the best option we had. She's young and clever."

Alex wanted to say lots of things—words that she refused to say to her mother, because she didn't want to lose the fight by giving in—the foremost of all being that her mother and she got to spend less than three months together in a year, but the square edges of McGonagall's glasses informed her that it would be useless to vent at the professor. So instead she said goodbye to McGonagall before stepping into cold winter grounds.

The icy air refused to calm her. Alex walked quickly through the snow-covered tracks, staring at the fog of her breath clouding her vision every few seconds. The walk around the grounds did nothing to quell her apprehension—what if her mother didn't arrive safely, what if there was a trap, or a misunderstanding during a negotiation, what if—a thousand things that could have gone wrong, the thousand things that she herself did not understand. Sudden terror that their tawdry farewell might have been their last seized her and refused to let her go and Alex quickened her pace even more, trying to reason herself out of the irrational fear. Of course her mother and she would meet again, and they would finish the conversation about what a bad or good kind of boyfriend Regulus Black made—a subject which suddenly appeared most insignificant—and how grandfather was doing, and the number of N.E.W.T.s that Alex would need to graduate successfully and get a job, and—

"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice said, and added, after a pause, "is that the right expression?" Alex whipped around.

"Lee," she said, feeling oddly relieved. "Didn't know you were staying at school during the holidays."

"And I thought you'd gone home," Henryk replied, appraising her appearance. "Were you attacked by a hellcat?"

"It's a possibility," Alex muttered darkly. "There's the metaphorical kind."

"Ah," he replied, effectively dropping the subject. It was then that Alex noticed the wheelbarrow next to him.

"Are you still serving detention?" she asked in disbelief.

"No," Henryk replied, picking up the handles and beginning to push the cart. "Just thought that Hagrid might want some help. Winter's not the easiest season to survive outdoors."

"That's… nice," Alex said, trying not to show her surprise. Lee didn't appear to be a particularly altruistic person to her. Henryk shrugged.

"It's something to do," he said. Without quite noticing, she followed the direction he was heading.

"Can I help?" she said automatically. Henryk raised his eyebrow and regarded her for a few seconds.

"Something's wrong," he stated lightly. Alex was taken aback by the sudden remark, but Henryk was merely looking over the wheelbarrow when she looked at him.

"Maybe," she said.

"Alright."

"You're not going to ask what it is?"

Henryk grinned. "I'm not obliged to," he said, showing his teeth. Despite everything, Alex let out a scoff of laughter.

"I guess not," she said. "I'm not allowed to talk about it, anyway."

"Alright," Henryk repeated, and Alex watched him pile the logs one by one in the corner of a small lay of ground. Having stacked a high pile, he took the closest one, set it on a bench of a tree trunk, placed a small wedge in the middle of the stout log and—

 _Chomp_.

Alex took a few steps back unconsciously as the log split neatly into two. The halves were split again before being thrown to the farthest corner.

"You know that you could use magic to do this, right?" Alex said after watching Henryk swing the axe for several minutes. He paused from his work.

"I never thought about it that way," he said, and proceeded to work through the pile without even looking up. Alex crouched on a small stone and watched him, the way his back bent with every swing, the rhythmical quality of his actions. He was obviously used to this kind of work. She wondered what kind of trouble he had gotten into that had led him to so many detentions in Bulgaria. He must have had detentions to be this skilled, wasn't he?

"Are you going to sit there all day?" his voice snapped him out of her haze of thoughts. Alex blinked. There was now only one pile of wood, neatly chopped and stacked so cleanly that she thought that she could jump up and down on it like a mattress. Alex got up hastily and dusted snow off of her cloak.

"What else are you doing today?" she asked as Henryk stored the wheelbarrow in its corner.

"Promised to visit Lupin," he shrugged. "Remus Lupin, he's—"

"Fifth year Gryffindor prefect, I know," Alex said.

"Apparently he's feeling—peaky?" Henryk frowned at the foreignness of the word. "Madame Pomfrey has him locked up in the Hospital Wing like a prisoner."

"She certainly picked the most unlikely candidate," Alex murmured. Henryk grinned.

"A week in the Hospital Wing," Henryk shook his head amused. "I don't know if it's English precaution or something else. Peaky. Back in—" He paused, obviously catching himself. Alex looked at him curiously.

"Back in what?"

"Back in Bulgaria," Henryk said, "I was poisoned once—stopped breathing, or so they told me. They kicked me out after an afternoon of examination."

" _Poisoned_?"

"My school preferred a more… hands-on approach."

"By poisoning their students?"

"Not all the students," Henryk hastily added. "I was just really unlucky about where I was."

"Durmstrang must be some school if students can get be unlucky about where they get poisoned," Alex said. Henryk kicked the snow under his feet, sending small bunches flying up into the air.

"Yes," he muttered. "Some school I went to." A melancholic look suddenly appeared on his face and Alex began to wonder if she'd said something wrong, but after a moment Henryk seemed himself again.

"Speaking of," he said, "do you remember anything about dueling that I taught you?"

"I realize that I'm not the brightest dueler you've met, but do you really have to ask me if I remember anything?" Alex asked drily. By the end of November Henryk had felt that Alex knew sufficient amount of defensive and offensive spells to start practicing them with a moving target—himself. Within five minutes, Alex found out to her dismay that Henryk could block her spells without even lifting his wand.

"You could be better," Henryk said mildly. "That's why I was asking. When the break started, you could barely hit me once."

"Not my fault that you move quickly," Alex muttered. Henryk shook his head.

"I wasn't even fighting back."

"Really? I thought you were just being nice to me because I was a girl."

Henryk looked at her like she was crazy. "I didn't notice," he said. "Anyway, I thought that you could do with a lot more practice."

"This is a very roundabout and misguided way of offering to teach me."

"It's not an offer," Henryk said. "I'm demanding it, actually. You'd be danger to everyone else around the way you aim." Before she could say anything against this, however, Henryk threw a snowball straight at her face and began to run off toward the castle. Alex stared after him for a few seconds, speechless, before setting off after him.

"You!" She shouted. "What's—what's wrong with you?" Even from the distance she could see that Henryk was laughing.

"Come on, Alexandra," he taunted. "Too slow to catch me?"

"You wish," Alex muttered before leaping from the ground. Somehow she managed to latch onto Henryk's back safely before they both fell into the snow, face-down. Alex felt the weight of his torso pressing down on her arms.

"Ow," Alex muttered, trying to untangle herself from the heap of limbs and snow.

"Shows you not to jump at anyone," Henryk said, chuckling.

"I wasn't _jumping_ at anyone," Alex replied hotly. Henryk merely burst out laughing at her face.

"What's so funny?" Alex muttered petulantly.

"You," Henryk said. "Looked sad. Now you look annoyed."

"Good to know that my annoyance is funny to you," Alex shot back. Henryk shrugged.

"Better than your sadness," he said quietly, looking up at the sky. Alex turned to her side and sat up, regarding Henryk with a frown on her face.

"Why are you nice to me?" she asked. Henryk made a face.

" _I_ 'm nice to you?"

"Relatively speaking."

"I'm not nice to you," Henryk scoffed.

"You've offered to teach me how to duel. You helped me that day with the Slytherins, and then in the Forbidden Forest. Even during detentions, you do the harder work without even telling me. You're nice to me," Alex insisted.

"Then stop looking like you're going to cry any second," Henryk said. "Have you seen your face today?"

"Why do you care? No one else cares."

"What do you want to hear, Alex?"

"I don't know," Alex said, scowling at herself. Henryk shook his head.

"There's nothing out of this conversation that I can give you."

"I know that."

"Stop asking for it."

"I'm not."

"Then why do I feel like you are?" His eyes looked straight at her and Alex drew back a little, feeling guilty.

"Sorry."

"No," Henryk muttered. "I've let you do that. I should apologize." Alex rocked back and forth in the snow, biting the inside of her cheeks.

"My mum went on a mission," she said suddenly. Henryk raised his eyebrow.

"She's in this organization. Against—you-know-who. They sent her on a mission. Today. This morning. I mean, I guess someone had to do it, but I didn't want her to go. She went anyway. We had a fight before that."

"About?"

"Reg," Alex said. "Mom doesn't like him very much."

"Well," Henryk muttered, "I don't like him very much either."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"For a reason."

"That only I don't see?"

"He's not good enough for you."

"What does that even mean?"

"Just that: he's not good enough for you," this time Henryk looked at her in the eyes and didn't turn his gaze away. "He only understands the world through his perspective, what _he_ can do, what he can't do, as the second son of the Black family. He just _can't_ consider the other possibilities that he could choose. It's not a matter of stubborn will, Alex; he just doesn't know how."

"Maybe he'll learn how," Alex said in a small voice.

"People don't change that easily."

"Maybe for me." Henryk's face softened into an odd sort of a smile.

"Perhaps for you," Henryk said. "But perhaps not. In any case, you can do better."

"Oh, do you have any suggestions?" Alex said. "Perhaps the insufferable Potter?"

Henryk grinned. "No, he has a type. Besides, he needs to grow up. Next."

"What about Diggory in seventh year? He's quite nice."

"Too obsessed with titles. Next."

"Hopkins? Fifth year Ravenclaw."

"Have you _seen_ his nose?"

"We're not discriminating against noses, Lee."

"Maybe you're not, but I am," Henryk said, laughing. "Next."

"Well, I don't know!" Alex said, laughing despite herself. "If we rule everyone with a bad nose and bad personality out, then all we have left is Reg!"

"Since when did Black have a good personality?"

"He's nice," Alex said defensively.

"Correction, he _can_ be nice."

"He's nice to me."

"Yes, I suppose that's a redeemable feature." Henryk said carelessly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I had a girlfriend," Henryk said.

"Do I want to know?"

"I had a girlfriend," Henryk said. "She was nice to me—in fact, she was nice to everyone. I didn't realize how nice she was to everyone until I found her together with a classmate during fifth period break." Alex paused.

"I'm sorry." Henryk waved a dismissive hand.

"It was a long time ago. And I wasn't terribly attached to her. I suppose it's better that Black's nicer to you than everyone else. But that doesn't make everything else unimportant."

"I don't know," Alex said, moodily crushing a bit of snow in her hand. "Do you think he'll hurt me?" Henryk shrugged.

"Who knows," he said. Alex sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This isn't your problem. It's just—you've caught me at a bad time." Henryk threw a bit of snow in her face and Alex blinked, trying to get the flakes from her eyelashes.

"It's fine," Henryk said. "And you know what—I think your mom's going to be fine."

Alex grinned faintly. "You think?"

"'Course she will," Henryk said, getting up. "In any case, Lupin must be waiting for me. You could come along, if you want. We have to get lunch anyway."

"Alright," Alex said quietly, following Henryk gingerly, feeling like a five-year-old following her older brother.

Remus was looking worse than Alex remembered seeing him the winter before, when she had sustained the blister around her neck. Despite this, however, Remus greeted both of them cheerfully and seemed genuinely happy to learn that she was going to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. The conversation came to a rather abrupt stop when Henryk noticed the chessboard by Remus' bedside table.

"Oh, James left it with me," Remus said. "He's always losing chess pieces, so he thought it would be safer."

"Do you play?" Henryk asked, eyeing the set with what Alex assumed to be enthusiasm. She'd never seen Henryk enthusiastic about anything before.

"Sure," Remus said, laying out the pieces. "Alex, if you don't mind—"

"I'll watch," Alex said, seating herself down on one of the stools. Henryk sat on the bedside, already immersed in the game.

Remus was a cautious player, and, sadly for him, Henryk was also a cautious player who knew when to strike. Alex watched both of them in silence for a while, not wishing to say anything; however, it was obvious that Remus was going to lose if he kept on losing his pieces just for the sake of being cautious.

"Remus, your knight's trapped," Alex remarked.

"I know," Remus said, not looking up.

"You can spare a pawn," Alex said.

"Well I know that, too," Remus replied, frustration creeping into his voice.

"Okay," Alex said. "How about the trap that Henryk's set out for the rook?"

"What trap?" Remus said, looking up. Simultaneously, Henryk cast her a dirty look.

"We're playing a game," he said.

"Yes, it's obviously unfair," Alex retorted, sliding down next to Remus. "There's a trap for the rook, there's another trap for the bishop, although it may be for the queen, depending on how Remus moves his pieces. The pawns are all over the place."

"I give up," Remus said, throwing up his hands in surrender.

"You've spoiled it, Wilson," Henryk said, shaking his head.

"Hold on," Alex said, "I bet I can win this game."

Henryk raised his eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Could I?" Alex asked.

"Oh, go ahead," Remus said in mock resignation. "I was going to lose anyway." With those words he produced a well-eaten chocolate bar from the drawer and began to nibble on it. Alex bent over the board, studying it.

"Tell you what," Henryk said, moving his piece. "You can't win."

"Yes, I can," Alex said, retaliating.

"You can't," Henryk said, moving another piece. "Checkmate."

"Speak for yourself," Alex grinned, indicating the board. "You just put your king in danger. Checkmate." With that Alex's tower knocked his king off the board. Henryk raised his eyebrow again.

"Huh," Remus said. "You baited your king to get his king." Alex shrugged.

"You know that in real life that would've meant that both frontiers would've been captured by the traps," Henryk said.

"Yes, but the point was to capture the king, not save as many pieces as possible," Alex said, matter-of-fact. And that was the end of it all.

The next morning Alex woke up to find a few presents lying by the foot of her bed. One of them was a complete chess set that looked too old to be really functional, but the board itself, which had an intricate weaving of different woods, was polished meticulously. She apologized to Henryk for not having gotten him a present—she had not anticipated the necessity—but he brushed off the apology. The days went by—worrying about her mother, being angry at her in other times, and wondering, sometimes, but not always, why Regulus had not responded to her last letter. But she was not going to get an answer to that particular question until a few days before the first day of class, when everyone was scheduled to come back on the Hogwarts Express. Alex watched from the stairwell as students began to trickle in from their carriage rides, looking rosy and happy. She couldn't remember the last time she'd looked that way. She must've during third year, when she'd gone home for the holidays and come back, but—

"Alex!"

The voice came from Leila Parkinson, who had the sense and lack of sense to send Alex a bottle of Italian olive oil and vinegar—from Italy. Alex stood up from the stairwell, feeling slightly better.

"Leila," Alex said, her voice strangely weak. Leila ran up the stairs in record speed and hugged her, sending her stumbling back a few steps.

"Hi," she said, holding Alex tight. "Blimey, it felt so long."

"Is there something wrong?" Alex asked. Leila broke apart and examined her face closely.

"Then he hasn't told you?" she asked. Alex frowned.

"Who hasn't told me what?"

Leila shook her head. "That coward," she spat. "Regulus Black, that's who. There's something you need to hear. It's—"

"Parkinson, that's enough," a tired voice came from behind them. Alex turned around, and—

"Alex, could we talk? I need to tell you something." Regulus' face was as pale as ever, but Alex thought for some reason that his cheeks were somehow hollow, that there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. Hadn't he had a chance to rest during the holiday?

"Alright," Alex said, uncertainly following Regulus to the third floor. She looked back one last time at Leila to tell her to go to dinner, but something on Leila's frown made her uneasy.

"What's going o—" she began as Regulus had closed the classroom door behind them, but her words became muffled when Regulus pulled her toward him and held her fiercely.

"Merlin I missed you," he said in her ear.

"You didn't write back," Alex replied quietly, slowly putting her arms around him as well.

"I couldn't," he said, burying his face in the crook of her neck, kissing little patches of skin that he could find. "My parents—they locked the family owls in a cage."

"What? Why?" Alex tried to push him away so that she could see his face, talk to him a bit, but Regulus refused to budge. She could feel him swallow.

"Sirius ran away," he said eventually. Her arms automatically tightened around him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Alex murmured. Regulus let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh.

"You know, you're the first person to tell me that."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone's congratulated me on—being the next heir. I suppose they're right." Now Regulus did let go of her, but he still kept her within the reach of him, stroking her cheeks with his fingers. "I would make a better heir. Keep the family going. What's left of it anyway."

"Reg—"

"And that's what I need to tell you," Regulus said. "You can't be a part of that family."

Alex stepped back, feeling the sting of the trail where moments ago Regulus had caressed. Regulus, seeing this reaction, stepped toward her immediately, as if he couldn't bear the distance.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he said. "I—right now. My parents won't accept you right now. But they will, eventually, just give them time, I'll find a way to—make them see. That you're what I need, more than anyone else. I—I can't do this without you, Alex."

"What are you trying to tell me, Regulus?" Alex said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Your parents—"

"They'll see sense. They will. It's just—until they do—they must think that—that we've broken up. That we're done." Alex wasn't sure which was worse, Regulus' words or his pleading face.

"So we're breaking up?"

"No, we're not breaking up," Regulus said quietly. "But everyone will think that we have."

"I don't understand."

"We'll have to—act as we've broken up. I know, Alex, please, listen, I know that I'm demanding a lot from you—"

"You're asking me to pretend to have broken up with you."

"Yes, but we won't be really apart—"

"Because you're ashamed to be seen with me?"

"What? No, no—" Regulus began to look frustrated. "Because if the news goes to my parents that we are together, they will send me off to marry Sirius' own fiancée without a second thought the moment I become of age, and I've barely managed to convince them that I would rather focus on being the head of the family before thinking about anything matrimonial. Alex, please, I'm just asking you for a little more time."

"To convince your parents?" Alex said, feeling an odd sense of comedy despite the situation. "That's funny, Reg, because I didn't manage to convince mine." The memory of her fight with her mother came startlingly back to her and Alex had a bitter taste at the back of her throat that she had not been willing to recognize before: that her mother might be right.

"Alex," Regulus said. "I want this. I want us."

"I—I don't know," Alex said, beginning to walk around in circles.

"Don't you care for me?"

Alex closed her eyes, feeling the words sink in. "Of course I do."

"And I care for you. Why couldn't we try this?" Regulus laid down his hands on either side of her shoulders and looked straight at her in her eyes. Alex wished that she could look away, but she couldn't. It was Reg, her Reg, and—

"Okay," she said finally. "Okay, let's do this."


	28. Chapter 28

The news of the break-up between Regulus Black and Wilson spread through the Slytherin house quickly.

It was met with glad anticipation by most female students, who began to vie for the new Black heir's attention despite his repeated assurance—always delivered with a smile—that he was not really looking for anyone, as the family business occupied most of his time. Rebecca Goyle was his chief undeterred suitor, and she found the newly vacant spot next to the Black heir during Potions especially satisfactory.

"You chop your roots so neatly, Regulus," Rebecca said in a loud voice one March afternoon. "But this must take so much effort. Do you practice?"

"Please, someone shut the slag up," Leila muttered irritably next to Alex. Rebecca had suddenly lost interest in Rosier over the holidays and Leila, although satisfied that Rosier's ego was hurt in the end, found Rebecca's inconstancy more unforgivable than Rosier's infidelity.

"It's just Rebecca," Alex muttered.

"How can you even stand the sight of her? It's like you're not bothered at all." Alex had failed to find a way to tell Leila that Regulus and she were fake-broken-up until he could find a way to convince his parents. She wasn't sure why she was so hesitant to tell Leila about the new development; perhaps because, despite everything, she knew that Leila disapproved of Regulus as her boyfriend—something that she and Sophia Wilson shared in common.

Alex tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I have better things to do." Leila clasped her shoulder in solidarity.

"Yes," she said solemnly. "I have a stack of _Quidditch Today_ from last January to this year's first publication. You're more than welcome to join me for a round of statistical analysis, if you'd like."

"You mean writing down every score of Chudley Cannon games."

"Yes."

"Which are numerous."

"That's why you need statistical analysis."

"No thanks," Alex said. "Anyway, I've got plans with—"

"Let me guess, _Henryk_?" Leila's sly look did not go unnoticed. Alex was glad that her exasperation, which she didn't hide from her voice, was genuine. These days it felt like everything she said to everyone was—

"I told you several times, it's not like that."

"I dunno, you two spend a _lot_ of time together."

"He's teaching me how to duel."

"Every evening."

"Apparently I'm very bad at it."

"Are you?"

"I managed to hit him twice yesterday."

"You know what I think? I think he's telling you you're worse than you actually are because he wants to be around."

"In two hours. I managed to hit him twice in two hours."

"Hmm." Leila's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Still. Spending two hours together every evening. That's two more hours than what we spend together every day."

"Leila, we sit together in every single class we have together."

"Because neither of us have any other choice!" Leila apparently had further plans to enumerate how pathetic their social lives were, but Slughorn's usual gratingly booming voice interrupted their conversation.

"Miss Parkinson, what do we have here?" Slughorn watched Leila's cauldron from distance, apparently fearing for his life a bit too much to approach it any closer.

"Draught of Drowsiness, Professor?" Leila said drily.

"Yes, and the vapors are forming…"

"A circular shape." Leila glanced at the board. "Oh." The instructions were clear: the vapors should form a diamond shape.

"Kindly try again from step two, Miss Parkinson, Miss Watson would presumably like to avoid getting her hands melted…" Chortling, Slughorn left their table, highly amused by his wit. Leila rolled her eyes.

"Tell you what," Leila said. "I'm not going to have enough time to finish the damned thing. Let me just nick some of yours, it's not like he's going to notice..." Not waiting for an argument, Leila grabbed the ladle between them and scooped several cups' worth of potions into her own cauldron.

"Oi!" Alex said, watching her own liquid diminish in half. "You know that I have to adjust the amount of every single ingredient now, right?"

"You're smart, I'm sure you can do it," Leila said. Shaking her head, Alex headed for the cupboard where Slughorn kept a stash of extra ingredients. On her way she couldn't help but glance at Regulus' and her usual table by the side, and unexpectedly, for a second, her eyes met his, the lovely shade of gray.

They were blank.

* * *

Henryk was his no-nonsense self that evening.

"I have to leave an hour early, Diggory scheduled a Quidditch practice," he said as he unceremoniously threw his backpack on the ground. The Great Hall housed more students than it did last semester as anxious seventh and fifth years began to study for their exams, but few bothered them in the corner.

"Okay," Alex said, watching him from her seat.

Henryk paused. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing." Henryk looked at her with his unnervingly steady gaze. Alex rubbed her eyes.

"I'm sure you're already tired of hearing about it," Alex muttered. Henryk sighed and slumped on the ground beside her.

"It's fine," Henryk said. "But I don't think I'm going to change my mind on this, either. I don't think you should continue this—" Henryk made a vague gesture in the air— "with him. I think he's just taking advantage of you."

"You've said that already," Alex said to the ground.

Henryk was the only person who knew about her and Regulus, and even though he disapproved of their status as Leila would presumably do, Alex somehow found his disapproval comfortable. Her mother's disapproval always made Alex feel like she was less in her mother's eyes, and Leila's opinions were similarly full of judgement. But Henryk—it was hard to explain. It was what she and Regulus might have, Alex supposed, had he not been a pureblood Slytherin. She didn't know what to make out of this, however, so she let it rest; whether Henryk knew this or not, she didn't know, but he certainly didn't show it.

"I don't think you fully know it yet, though."

"Don't I?" Alex said, looking up at Henryk's face. Something between the stern lines of his jaw and brows softened at her expression.

"I think you're too young."

"You're two years older than me!" Despite everything, Alex laughed.

"And I have two sisters who are hopeless at romance!" Henryk laughed, too. "I did tell you about Cecilia and that—bloke with the brown coat, haven't I?"

"Yes," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "About a dozen times already."

"I'm telling you, she's better off without him. We all thought so."

"But—" Alex hesitated.

"But," Henryk said.

"He's—Reg. He was—he's still my best friend. I don't know how to let him go without losing my best friend. And I don't want to let him go, either. I want us. That's a stupid thing to want, I know, but I still do." She looked helplessly at Henryk, who was looking thoughtfully back at her.

"I just keep thinking," he said slowly. "You said that it's getting a bit too much, keeping up the ruse, pretending like he means nothing to you now. You said that every time you're in the same room together, it's like going against your basic impulse by staying away. That you're lying to everyone else and to yourself too."

"You remember everything, don't you?" Alex muttered at the floor, feeling embarrassed and a little glad despite herself at Henryk's accuracy.

"You said you wanted to tell Leila but couldn't," Henryk said. Alex nodded.

"You haven't told your mum either," Henryk continued.

"I don't think I can reach her by mail right now, honestly."

"Alex, this is making you miserable," Henryk said, exasperated.

"I know that—so what should I do?" Alex said, her voice growing louder. A couple of students sent annoyed glares their way and Alex receded into her place again, feeling forlorn.

"I think you already know," Henryk said. "End it. It's simple, isn't it?"

"But I don't want to end it," Alex said in a small voice.

"He means that much to you," Henryk stated the question.

Alex sighed. "Yes," she said in a small voice.

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you'll find someone else who'll actually merit how much he means to you." Henryk stood up and dusted his robes. "So should we get started on the practice? I think you almost had the second position yesterday, but you slipped when you looked at the girl trying to transform her owl into a pigeon."

"It was a parrot," Alex grumbled.

Forty-five minutes later Alex trudged down the lower corridors, feeling slightly uplifted despite the dismal results of the practice (Henryk's exact words were "you're not getting _worse_ ," which, Alex supposed, was his method of encouragement). But there were at least three different assignments that she needed to finish before the day was over, starting with revision for the Transfiguration essay—

Someone grabbed her arm from the dark and pulled her in, hard.

"What—" Alex said, reaching for her wand, but another hand grasped her wrist and pinned it down. Alex squinted in the dark, trying to see who it was, but—

"Relax," Regulus said in a low voice. "I was looking for you in the Common Room, but you weren't there." Already his hands had let go of her arms and were making their way from her shoulders to her waist, drawing her closer. Alex felt her lips pull into a smile automatically and tried to control her reaction—to no avail.

"I thought you had Quidditch practice," she said.

"The captain canceled the practice at the last minute," Regulus said.

"You're the captain," Alex said.

"Exactly." With that Regulus leaned in and kissed her.

If there was one thing that had progressed in any direction since winter break in their relationship, it was their physical intimacy—although Alex wasn't very sure if this progress was really a _progress_. Being with Regulus like this wasn't bad—it was quite good, when she let herself go a bit—but every once in a while the thought would creep into her head that Regulus was a boy, like any other boy, like the boys who tried to take advantage of her in her first year, and that would make her abruptly pull away. And yet her hands were still finding their place in Regulus' soft hair, his face, her fingertips slowly trailing the sharp lines of his jaw, making him moan and draw her even closer.

"I missed you," he murmured as he began to trail the line of her neck with kisses. Her eyes involuntarily fluttered close and her grip on his shoulders tightened.

"Regulus," Alex said, unsure if this was an encouragement or chastisement.

"Hmm?" Regulus answered vaguely, biting her ear. Alex let out a sigh.

"We need to talk," her voice sounded drowsy and unclear even to her ears, but Alex found that she wasn't beginning to mind, not at all…

It was clear that Regulus didn't hear what she said, either. Instead he pushed her harder up against the wall so that every line of their bodies was pressed together and began to move against her in earnest, his touch hot against her skin. Alex forgot where she was, exactly what qualms she had against Regulus being so close to her—surely, nothing that felt this good could ever be bad—

But suddenly he stopped, his back straightening in alertness. Something glinted in his eyes.

"Someone's coming," he muttered, and without waiting for an answer grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the alcove in the corridor, finding a door that Alex had not noticed in darkness and pushing her in. Alex stumbled in the dark room, trying to find a source of light as Regulus locked the door behind her.

"Thanks a bunch," Alex said sourly, feeling how her shoulder had bumped into something sharp.

"It's a broom cupboard," Regulus said. "Saw it during the rounds once. There." A pale glow came from the overhead light that Alex had not noticed before. It cast an odd shadow on Regulus' face, making him look suddenly a lot older and gaunt. Impulsively she reached out and touched his cheek, feeling the hollowness beneath his cheekbones.

"You've gotten thinner," she said worriedly. Regulus shrugged.

"Maybe I'm just growing," he said.

"I don't think so," Alex said. Regulus shrugged again.

"But where were we?" he said instead, stepping closer to her in the tight space. Alex tried to step back, but the back of her head met something dull and heavy.

"Ow," she said with a grimace. She sighed.

"Reg, we need to talk." Regulus smiled bemusedly.

"About what?"

"About us," Alex replied impatiently. The bemused smile slipped off Regulus' face by an inch.

"Oh," he said simply. Alex swallowed, trying to figure out what the best way to say this was. What exactly was it that she wanted to say anyway?

"I don't like how things are going," she said finally. Regulus shifted.

"Which part?"

"Which part?" Alex repeated incredulously. "Which part? How about everything?"

"Alex—"

"Hiding things, sneaking around, lying to everyone I care about—"

"I promised that it wouldn't be this way forever."

"Then when? _When_ will it stop being this way?"

"I told you that these things take time!" Alex had not been expecting Regulus to raise his voice—in fact, she had never heard Regulus raise his voice. She flinched automatically, feeling as though she had done something wrong—as if it was wrong of her to bring up this topic in the first place. But she couldn't figure out why it was wrong.

"I said that I would need some time to take care of things," Regulus repeated, trying to school himself, but obviously failing. "I told you—I asked you to give me time, and you said yes."

"But it's not just about waiting," Alex said impatiently.

"What is it, then?" Regulus snapped.

"I don't know!" she yelled in frustration. "I just don't know. We spend a lot of time—kissing—I guess that's what people do, but that can't be the only thing that we can do, but that is the only thing we do, and—"

"Do you want more?" There was a strange undertone in Regulus' voice that Alex couldn't place. She tried to look at his face and understand what he meant, but the overhead light cast odd shadow at his eyes and made this impossible.

"Of course I want more," Alex said softly, looking away. Regulus took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips, an oddly antiquated gesture that she loved that Regulus could make.

"I wish you'd told me," he murmured, now letting go of her hands and drawing her closer to him again.

"I didn't think that it needed saying," Alex replied shyly. Regulus held her tighter.

"I mean, I expect that it wouldn't be the easiest for both of us, seeing as neither of us have much experience in this, but I think that we would at least be guaranteed some privacy in the Room of Requirements—"

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Alex said, frowning. Regulus looked down at her, apparently also confused.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"What does the Room of Requirements have anything to do with anything—"

"Because you were—" Something in her expression, it seemed, made Regulus realize that whatever he had in mind was not what she had in mind. "You weren't talking about—" he spluttered away, now trying to take a step back in the cramped space. Alex frowned.

"Talking about what?" she asked.

"Never mind," Regulus brushed the question off brusquely, setting off Alex's irritation again.

"What did you think I was talking about?" she repeated. Regulus shook his head viciously.

"What did you mean?" he asked. Alex felt like stomping her feet on the floor like a five-year-old.

"I don't know, that I wanted us to do things other than just being—physical? I get that you want to keep this thing a secret, but that doesn't mean that all we do has to be about kissing, I—seriously, what did you think I meant?" exasperation got better of her by the end of the sentence and it felt as though the baskets on the top of the shelves were rattled by the volume of her voice. Regulus, on the other hand, seemed half-dazed, half-irritated.

"It's nothing," he muttered.

"What?" Alex demanded. Regulus sighed.

" _What_?"

"I thought—the opposite. That you might want to be—even more physical…" he trailed off, looking carefully at Alex's face. Alex felt a blush creep up her cheeks despite herself and growled. "Obviously not," Regulus muttered.

"I don't think we're at the best place or time for that, don't you think?" Even though she didn't want to hurt Regulus' feelings, it was difficult to keep sarcasm out of her voice. Regulus, unfortunately, heard the biting tone as well.

"Why not?" he asked defensively. "It's not like we're too young, and we've been together long enough—"

"Three months," Alex muttered at the ground. Three months suddenly seemed like an awfully short amount of time to get to know someone.

"We've known each other for the past four and a half years," Regulus said exasperatedly. "Honestly, I don't think I'll even get to know my fiancée that well."

"Fiancée?" Alex repeated, dumbfounded. Regulus immediately bit his lip, making her feel even more suspicious.

"You didn't mention that you had a fiancée, Regulus," Alex said—the calmness of her voice surprised even herself. "You said that you convinced your parents to put off marrying anyone."

"I did," Regulus said defensively. "It's just—they still think I'll get married _someday_."

"And they got a fiancée just for that day," Alex said dully. "Brilliant."

"Oh yes, having your older brother's jilted intended has always been the Black tradition," Regulus quipped angrily. "Listen, Alex, you know that this doesn't mean anything."

"Sure," Alex said, the dullness of her voice refusing to go away. "I know that."

"Don't be like this," Regulus said impatiently. "You must understand—"

"That yeah, you have your things to sort out," Alex replied testily. "But—I also have things going on, Regulus, and sometimes I don't think they matter to you at all."

"Don't be silly," Regulus said tiredly.

"Don't call me silly," she snapped. "I—you were my best friend, you're still my best friend, and I've been trying to remember that these days, but I get a feeling that you're not looking for a friend, you just want to forget things with someone, and it might as well be the next girl to come along on your way instead of me and you wouldn't care one bit."

"Now you _are_ being silly," Regulus said angrily. "I told you time and time again that you mean—"

"I don't see it! Do you? I don't see it at all," Alex shouted. The desperation that she'd tried to keep out of her voice kept climbing back up her throat, and she felt the dangers of imminent tears—but she didn't want to cry in front of Regulus—didn't want to show him that he made her feel vulnerable, especially when it didn't seem as though he was going to be there for her.

"I don't know what you want me to do," Regulus said. "I'm doing everything that I can." Alex couldn't tell if his words made her angry or resigned—why couldn't he? But she knew that he couldn't, so why should she blame him instead of herself?

"I don't know if that's enough," Alex said, too tired to carry on the argument. She reached for the doorknob and went into the corridor without another sentence, but a thought began to plague her and refused to let her go: that she _knew_ that it wasn't enough.

* * *

It would be unfair to accuse Regulus Black of not trying enough—or that's what Regulus kept repeating to himself as he hiked the familiar path toward Hogsmeade the weekend before Easter.

Around him were Rosier and Lestrange, the two banes in his life, or so it felt at that particular moment. They weren't talking about anything important in particular—something about the superiority of bloodless vampire treats over the actually bloody ones—and Regulus knew that he was supposed to pay attention, act as though he were listening, part of the group—but the sight that he'd seen as he left the Great Hall that morning kept grating his mind too much for him to concentrate.

"Regulus," Lestrange's voice brought him temporarily back to the present moment. "Pick: an old, pudgy veela or a young and thirsty vampire?"

Regulus raised one eyebrow laconically. "Your imagination knows no bounds," he drawled.

"Too high and mighty to choose, eh?" Rosier said, clasping him on his shoulder. It took all of Regulus' willpower not to cringe away from Rosier's touch. "I, personally, would recommend the vampire. She might bite, but where's the fun without a bit of feisty?"

"Feistiness," Regulus corrected him under his breath, but thankfully no one noticed what he said.

"Is that what Goyle was? A bit of feisty?" Lestrange guffawed. Rosier shook his head in benign condescension.

"Just a bit of fun," he said as they made the left turn into the heart of the village. "She's gotten old, though."

"You mean that she lost interest," Lestrange said slyly, looking at Regulus. Regulus refused to dignify that look with a response. Rosier shrugged easily enough.

"We all knew that was going to happen the moment you dumped Wilson," he said wisely, tapping Regulus on the shoulder again, making him clench his fists. "Have I said my congratulations, by the way?"

"Yes," Regulus said curtly, remembering what he'd seen in the morning all over again. His Alex leaving the hall with Parkinson and _Lee_ , of all people, laughing about something that he'd said, looking as though they've been friends since they were five. _He_ was supposed to be there, making her laugh, being close to her, not Lee. But all he seemed to be able to do these days was to make her angry.

"There they are, your exes," Lestrange said, carelessly pointing his chin at a window of Three Broomstick's. Sure enough there was Parkinson, whom Regulus had to admit could do far better than Evan Rosier, sitting snugly next to Alex, who was squeezed between Parkinson and Lee in the tiny booth of the pub, looking merry despite his absence. A violent stab of nostalgia and wistfulness overcame Regulus and he was reminded of the years past when they were the ones making the beeline for Three Broomsticks whenever there was a Hogsmeade trip, laughing over some ridiculous incident that had occurred in the past week, drinking butterbeer. And he'd given that up so that Alex could find other people and he could stand in the street with Rosier and Lestrange, contemplating whether veelas were better than vampires. He was an idiot.

Behind the faded window Lee suddenly put his arm behind Alex's stool—Regulus couldn't even tell if the stool had a back to lay an arm on. Regulus told himself that the stool could've been wobbly and that Lee was simply trying to steady her (this thought wasn't much better than the alternative that Lee might've been hitting on her for all of Alex's obliviousness). As far as he could tell, Parkinson had begun to tell both of them something new from her Quidditch magazine, and Lee was looking over the page interestedly while Alex was mildly glancing over several different pages at the same time. Regulus kept waiting for Lee to take his bloody arm off Alex's chair, but that didn't happen. Regulus clenched his teeth, but didn't let on how he felt otherwise, deciding to keep trudging on the muddy road with Lestrange and Rosier toward Hog's Head.

Yes, they had a fight. And, after he had calmed down, Regulus had to admit—just as he always admitted, even though he hated to do it—that Alex had every right to be upset. He was keeping them a secret for his convenience. It would be far easier to convince his parents of other things that he had planned if they weren't holding his relationship with Alex over his head every single time. But he was also doing this for her—who knew what his dissatisfied mother would do to Alex if he insisted on seeing Alex despite her wishes. Or any of his nastier cousins, for that matter. So yes, he was being selfish, but—couldn't she embrace his selfishness, at least for a little longer? The memory of the minutes before the fight, when his arms were still around her, his nose buried in her hair, her neck, his lips eagerly seeking hers—even though he knew better, he let the memory linger in his mind for a little longer than he should've, trying to remind himself that there were still aspects in his life that he didn't absolutely despise—that there _was_ warmth and kindness and light in his life.

Most of the times it felt as though his life was going to be the same as his parents'—loveless, bleak, bitter and obsessed over tiny details that shouldn't matter so that their lives will be validated for brief seconds. Alex dispelled those thoughts for intervals—whenever he was with her, Regulus could almost believe that his life could go the other direction, even without rebelling against everything that raised him as a child the way Sirius did, that he could find some happiness with her in his life. But to do that he had to hold on to her, he had to be selfish—but to what extent could he be selfish and still be there for her, he no longer knew…

"Regulus?" Rosier's hesitant voice brought him back to earth. "What do you think?"

Regulus suppressed the ironic smile that threatened to make its way from his head. Any Slytherin would be caught dead if they dared to address Regulus in any way but politely. Alex, of course, was always the exception… "About?" he said.

"We figured we could skip Hog's Head and head straight to Zonko's," Lestrange said. "It's pretty warm anyway, no point in wasting the weather in the dingy old place." Regulus shrugged in indifferent assent, and they soon reached the joke shop, where Rosier and Lestrange immediately set off toward the "Darkness" section. Regulus shook his head. There must be more creative ways to name powders that caused a blackout for ten seconds at most. He leaned over a row of tiny crates, trying to read the description that had faded with soot and usage.

"We need to talk," an unfamiliar voice suddenly said from behind him. Regulus' hand automatically grasped his wand.

"Easy," Lee said, but his low voice and his stance told Regulus another story. Regulus turned around, maintaining eye-contact with that infuriating foreigner.

"Do we now?" Regulus drawled indifferently.

"About Alex," Lee answered, looking as casual as if he were talking about the weather. Against his better judgement Regulus' face formed a sardonic frown.

"I don't think she's any of your business, Lee," Regulus said.

"Nor should she be yours, according to the rumor mill," Lee said, raising his eyebrow. "But we both know that that's not true, is it?" Regulus looked at Lee with some real emotion now. Not even Parkinson, it seemed, knew that he and Alex were still together—if she knew, Regulus supposed, she would've confronted him about it already and given him a lecture on why he doesn't deserve Alex, again. But—Lee knew. Which either meant that Lee kept a close enough eye on Alex to the point that he figured the truth out for himself—which wasn't very appealing to Regulus—or that Alex told him. Which was even less appealing. Alex—telling Lee about them. About what they shared. That seemed incomprehensible. What they shared—it was private.

Resisting the impulse to cross his arms, Regulus raised his eyebrow instead. "What do you want?" he drawled. Lee cocked his head toward the door.

"Outside," he said.

"Fine." Trying not to look sullen, Regulus straightened his back and walked out of the store with unusually stiff posture. Lee followed, looking far more at ease. This unnerved him.

"So what do you want?" Regulus repeated the question once they were out of the eyesight of curious passerby who were apparently interested to watch two tall teenage boys involved in serious discussion. Lee looked straight into Regulus' eyes.

"End it with her." Regulus raised his eyebrow, this time in real incredulity.

"I beg your pardon?" he said. Lee, the nerve of him, looked completely unabashed.

"I think you heard me perfectly clearly."

"I think you don't understand who you're talking to," Regulus drawled condescendingly—his best Black tone that Alex frowned at every time he used it. Lee, for one, didn't look fazed at all.

"You're the spoiled brat making Alex miserable," Lee said calmly. "That's who you are to me."

"And you're the one talking to me behind her back," Regulus' drawl grew even stronger as Lee's words became more and more infuriating to his ears. "Does she even know that you're here?"

"She doesn't need to know."

"And who do you think you are, taking that privilege?" For the first time, Lee hesitated, but it didn't seem to be out of uncertainty.

"You couldn't possibly understand," he said, an unfathomable smile playing across his lips.

"Can't I?" Regulus said, rising to the bait.

"No," Lee said. "You and your precious pureblood family go back centuries. That's as far as you can understand. This—this is beyond your comprehension."

To this point Regulus thought many things, but that Lee might be a little unhinged or stupid wasn't one of them. Now, however, the possibility seemed real. Talk about self-aggrandizement—as if two strangers could have any form of connection that went more than several months. In fact, for the first few months Lee gave Regulus a distinct impression that he was entirely unimpressed by Alex. And yet—something nagged in the back of his mind. Something about their—friendship. The way Lee always seemed to be there whenever Alex was in trouble—the forest, the Quidditch match, even now—as if he _knew_. How?

"If it's her that you want, then I'd try talking to her, not to me," Regulus said, trying to mask the panic in his voice. "I'm not changing my mind." _And neither is she_ , he added silently. _I don't think so. I hope so_.

Something in Lee's derisive smile hardened. "Want?" he said. "I don't _want_ her. I would never want her."

"Well, then," Regulus sneered. "What is the point of this conversation?"

"Either change the way you're treating her, or end it," Lee said. "She's too attached to you to do it. You, on the other hand, seem less attached."

Regulus smiled sardonically. "Have you told her that?" he said. "I can only imagine her reaction."

"No," Lee said, crossing his arms. " _She_ told _me_."

This stung. Regulus knew that Alex felt insecure about how he felt about her, and Regulus, to his frustration, never seemed to be able to convince her enough of how much he felt about her, but—why didn't she talk to him? Why talk to Lee? This—this infuriatingly calm, this imperturbable, this tall, built, attractive (Regulus loathed to admit this, but even he had to admit that Lee could probably give Sirius a good run for his money, if he set his mind to it) Quidditch player—why did Alex feel comfortable talking to Lee, but not to him? Regulus remembered that Alex tried to talk to him just a few days ago, when they had that row in the broom cupboard, but even then he got a sense that Alex didn't feel comfortable talking to him. Why, why—

Something else caught his focus.

Lee shifted slightly, very slightly, in front of him, and Regulus sensed somehow that he was now not the center of his attention. His eyes automatically began to seek in the crowd what Lee might've sensed, scanning different shades of gray and purple robes.

Lee tensed, and Regulus tensed, too. His eyes narrowed, somehow reacting to the tenseness that Lee was feeling.

Then he saw the man. Regulus remembered where he saw him. The man who was looking straight at them.

But no, not at them. Too occupied with the crowd, Regulus had not noticed that Alex had made way to both of them next to Zonko's. Looking at where they were looking at, her eyes had widened in surprise—pleasant surprise.

"Dad?"

Regulus looked at Alex. Then at that man. Then at Alex. Back at that man. Something heavy dropped in his stomach.

If fates could send a message, the message was clear now: Regulus Black and Alexandra Wilson were destined for disaster.

* * *

A/N: So sorry for the long wait! The end of the year has been absolutely hectic... and thank you so much for all those who reviewed/followed! I haven't been able to get back to you, but please know that every word you write melts my heart :)


	29. Chapter 29

_December 31_ _st_ _, 1976_

 _The end-of-the-year party at the Malfoy Manor was absolute torture. Regulus felt the muscles of his cheek strain under the activity of smiling gracefully constantly at every congratulation he received of becoming the new heir of the Black family: what a wonderful news, people said, Sirius was good-for-nothing, but Regulus, always proper, would make a fine heir. Congratulations Regulus, you are now assuming your rightful place, what a waste of talent you were, born the second son to such promising parents, what wonderful news yet again—_

" _Master Black," the man said, approaching him like everyone else, and Regulus thought that his brain was going into a temporary freeze from all the insincerity that he received and spewed back out. It was as if his lips were incapable of uttering words other than "thank you" and "my sentiments exactly." The said man cut a rather unimpressive figure among the well-dressed purebloods. His robes were simple and black, completely practical, and his hair was cut short without much attention paid to detail or aesthetic. His shoulders were broad, however, and his stance was solid. What his age was, Regulus couldn't say exactly. His hair was dark without any hint of gray, and his eyes were also dark—and somehow the most notable feature about him. They reminded Regulus of something, or someone, but he couldn't place whom._

 _Regulus, as per greeting a perfect stranger, smiled politely and shook the proffered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister—"_

" _Warner," the man said, not looking very insulted at Regulus' ignorance. "Aelius Warner. The pleasure's all mine. I've heard much about you." Something in the way he stressed his words made Regulus suspect that Warner had been keeping eyes on him for some time._

" _I—cannot quite say the same," Regulus said, looking appropriately abashed. Warner shrugged nonchalantly—a sign of his breeding. Warner obviously wasn't brought up in the high society—which made Regulus wonder even more. What was he doing in the Malfoy Manor?_

" _I've heard about your interest in the Cause from your parents," Warner said casually, as if they were exchanging basic pleasantries. "I've been looking into you and your fellow students for a while now, Master Black, and I'm obligated to tell you that your recent… movement in your position has certainly placed you in the Dark Lord's favor." Throughout the entire speech Warner kept a casual lookout in the crowd that would have had Regulus believe that he was merely surveying the crowd. His words made him realize, however, that Warner was actually scanning every person that passed by his radar, not catching any details large or small His eyes, almost shark-like in their intensity (and lack of movement), were actually perceiving the smallest detail that even Regulus was not attuned to catching._

" _You're the Recruiter," Regulus said, remembering something about a background check that Lucius had warned him about. Warner shrugged again unapologetically, and somehow this shrug reminded Regulus of something, just like Warner's eyes, but he couldn't remember again…_

" _That's what some people call me," he said. "Others call me by other things. You will soon know me as something else—if all goes well, that is." Warner smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile. Regulus reciprocated the smile, teeth for teeth._

" _I understand."_

" _I'm glad we have an understanding," Warner nodded. "Speaking of which, I've been informed that you've been… connected to a girl of uncertain repute." His words were again casual, his tone loaded with nothing but pleasantries. Regulus also shrugged to match his tone._

" _She means nothing to me now," he said, sipping his mead. The finest quality mead, Regulus knew in his head, as the Malfoys tolerated nothing but the finest, but it tasted only bitter in his mouth. "Surely you must've heard about that as well."_

" _I was," Warner said neutrally, but something told Regulus that he had ticked Warner off the wrong way. But how that happened, Regulus had no idea—everyone else was completely excited to know that Regulus had finally let go of his "childish delusions" and decided to get serious about choosing an appropriate mate. "But I wanted to confirm it, just in case."_

" _Consider it confirmed," Regulus said, smiling politely at Warner. Warner didn't return the smile._

" _Indeed," he said instead, and bowed slightly to Regulus before leaving without another word._

Regulus didn't think twice about the encounter. If Warner had been keeping an eye on him, Regulus didn't know until now, which meant that his methods must have been clandestine enough to escape Regulus' notice. There seemed little use in getting paranoid about who was watching him, especially in the pureblood society, where everyone was watching him anyway to begin with—this kind of scrutiny was nothing that Regulus was not already used to. Besides, he had nothing to hide, absolutely nothing at all—except for his relationship with Alex, that is—funny, that Warner should mention her in their first interview—

But now the reason for this seemed crystal clear.

"Dad?" Alex's surprise was evident, but Regulus didn't know how on Merlin's soggy pants Alex would be able to recognize her father, whom she had never seen before. Unless, of course, it was that—

"Alex," Warner was wearing an expression that Regulus didn't see on his face before. A kind of—tired relief, it seemed. Definitely unfit for the Recruiter, much less a member of the Dark Lord's circle. But Warner? What kind of a name was that? Wasn't Alex's original last name Wymond?

Oh, and it just happened to be that he told Warner that he cared nothing for his daughter. It seemed an appropriate thing to say to the Recruiter, but to the father of his girlfriend, it seemed—inadvisable.

"What are you doing here?" Alex said, looking both excited and puzzled. "It's Hogsmeade, and I haven't seen you since last summer."

"I thought I'd just—check in on you." Something about the way Warner talked seemed off to Regulus. A bit awkward. A bit affectionate, a bit apologetic—vulnerable. Warner that he saw in the Malfoy Manor had been completely self-possessed to the point even Regulus had to wonder if a pin could make Warner bleed. Apparently, it could.

"I'm okay," Alex said, frowning a bit. Regulus noticed that despite their tone, both Alex and Warner—Wymond? —seemed to keep a certain amount of distance from each other, as if going too close might tick the universe in a wrong direction.

"Are you going to introduce me to your—friends?" Warner said, hesitantly smiling at her. Alex looked at Regulus, who shrugged. So he was supposed to be acting indifferent to Alex, while also trying to appease her by not being too distant, while maintaining a safe distance from Warner, who seemed to have no intention of letting Alex know that he had already met Regulus at the Malfoy Manor. Something told Regulus that Alex didn't know whom her father worked for. Quite possibly because Alex would be less than thrilled about it. Regulus suddenly remembered that the Wilsons—Alex's grandparents—had disowned their daughter for her choice in marriage; they would not approve of a Death Eater as a son-in-law… and Sophia Wilson herself was no supporter of the Dark Lord's causes, either.

A father missing from his daughter's life for the past sixteen years, now discovered to be a member of the Dark Lord's circle, if not a Death Eater. The mother, a staunch bloodtraitor, quitted the magical world—presumably before Alex was even born. The pieces were beginning to fall into their places. Regulus stared at the two Wymonds, feeling that he had finally solved the puzzle that Alex had set out to solve when she first came to Hogwarts.

By all rights he should tell her. He had to tell her. But he didn't know how she would react. Would she side with her mother? Her father? What was better for Regulus and their relationship? Would the knowledge that her father was involved in the Dark Lord's mission place Regulus' own family in a more favorable light?

The family resemblance, now that Regulus knew to expect it, was more than uncanny. The strong eyebrows, the dark eyes, stubborn set of the mouth. They were all there in Alex, somewhat softened by Sophia Wilson's once-carefree smiles and laughter. How could Regulus have missed it?

Alex, meanwhile, was trying to figure out the conundrum of her social life.

"Um," she said, giving Regulus an uncertain glance. Trying to play the part that Regulus asked her to. Guilty, Regulus stepped forward and introduced himself.

"Mr. Wilson," he said smoothly, offering Warner his hand. "I'm Regulus Black, Alex's—housemate."

Warner's smile could have frozen a melting ice cream in a Mexican beach on a hot summer afternoon. "Hello, Regulus," he said, grasping Regulus' hand very, very tightly. "And you are?"

"Henry," Lee muttered vaguely, looking away. Alex was beginning to look lost between her estranged father, her fake-broken-up boyfriend, and a male friend whose friendship was—questionable, in Regulus' eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Warner said politely. Lee stopped slouching and looked at Warner fully in the face.

"Henryk Lee," Lee said, offering Warner his hand. Warner cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. For a second, Regulus thought that there was recognition in Warner's dark eyes. If there was, however, it flashed momentarily before Warner managed to hide it. His smile was even frostier than before.

"I see," he said, shaking Lee's hand as well. "And you're my daughter's boyfriend?"

Alex's face, to her credit, went from pale confusion to beetroot red within seconds. Regulus, on the other hand, knew that the jibe was directed at him—at Regulus Black, a "spoiled brat," to quote Lee, who told his girlfriend's own father that his daughter meant nothing to him.

"No, no, no," Alex answered quickly, waving her had furiously in denial. "He's just a friend. He's an exchange student, actually—from Bulgaria. We didn't know each other until several months ago."

"Really," Warner said, his frosty smile still in place. "I thought Henryk was a Polish name. Are you Bulgarian, Henryk?" Again something of a recognition seemed to pass between Lee and Warner, but Regulus couldn't figure out what it was. Lee answered with a polite smile.

"I was born in Poland," he said. "My parents thought that it would be nice to honor the country, considering its… less than fortunate recent history."

"How nice," Warner said. Until Lee began to talk, Regulus didn't realize that Warner sounded entirely English—something that shouldn't have mattered much, as most of the people that Malfoys associated themselves with were either English or French. But Warner's English suddenly felt foreign. "And your parents are Bulgarian, I presume?"

"No," Lee answered monosyllabically.

"Tell me more." This sounded more like a command than a request. Something steely entered Warner's face and even Regulus had to recoil from the force of the expression.

"Really, Dad—" Alex began to protest, feeling the imposition of Warner's face as well. But Lee shrugged easily.

"It's a long story," he said. "My great-great-great-great grandfather was Korean. That's where I got the name from. He came to Isfahan in a merchant ship via China and married a Persian woman there. My father came from a small village by the Caspian Sea—he was born in Azerbaijan. I suppose that the family had migrated there between generations, marrying the local people. He met my mother in Romania."

"I didn't know that," Alex said curiously. Regulus reminded himself once again that Alex still wasn't very used to the wizard history—international wizard society still seemed to awe her a bit… "Were they all wizards?"

"I think so," Lee said. "The family records aren't very clear, but they all suggest that everyone knew what magic was, at least." Warner, on the other hand, seemed completely unimpressed by the tale.

"And your mother's side?" Warner asked, a scathing smile on his face. Something in Lee's face turned stony, matching Warner's former steely look.

"It's a very dull tale," he said politely.

"I doubt it," Warner replied, equally polite.

"It truly is."

"Dad!" Alex said timidly. "I think that's enough—why don't you ask Regulus about his family? Reg knows all about his family history…" Regulus resisted the urge to shoot Alex an annoyed look. She knew how much he disliked talking about his family history, as if that was the only thing worth knowing about him. Warner, however, gave Alex a wan smile.

"I'm sure it's nothing that I haven't heard before," he said pleasantly to Regulus, but Regulus knew the message behind the words: I know everything there is to know about your family. Bloody hell, Regulus wouldn't be surprised if Warner had gotten the minutest details about his family's financial records dating back a hundred years.

"But I'd like to talk with you alone, Alex—if you don't mind," Warner continued, and Alex scratched her head shyly.

"Alone? —alright," she said diffidently and began to follow Warner toward the edge of the village, where the Shrieking Shack was. Lee began to set off after them, almost impulsively, but Warner turned around and gave him a firm look when Alex was distracted by a butterfly on a fence. Regulus looked between them, uncomprehending.

"What do you know about him?" he asked. This seemed to snap Lee out of whatever trance he was in.

"About whom?" Lee said, his voice suspiciously blank.

"Him—Alex's father. Whatever his name is."

"How the Lech would I know what her father's name is? He didn't tell us and she certainly didn't tell me." Lee began to stalk toward the center of the village and Regulus, feeling undignified and definitely un-Black, began to run after him.

"You know him," Regulus accused.

"No."

"You know him."

"Stop following me, Black. The precious Slytherin Prince couldn't be seen following someone like me, now, could he?" Lee quickened his pace even further.

"Stop running away and face me, damn it." To his surprise, Lee stopped abruptly and turned around, looking straight into Regulus' face with his flashing, stormy blue eyes.

"Weren't you listening before? This is beyond your comprehension. Stop following me, and stop asking me questions." Without waiting for an answer Lee turned around and walked away, going further and further away until he was just a mere point on a horizon. Regulus looked after him, feeling uncharacteristically foolish and small.

What was going on?

The month before Easter his mother had sent him a letter asking if he was planning to come back home for break. Regulus knew that there was one correct answer to this question—if this kind of demand could even be called a question—and as he had been trying to appease his mother on most matters so that she might be more open to some ideas that he had, he promptly answered that he would come home.

At that time he had not been expecting to get into a fight with Alex nor that they would not speak to each other for almost two weeks without once having some time together away from the crowd. The day before Easter—almost a week after the Hogsmeade trip—during the prefect rounds, Regulus decided that he would need to do something about their relationship. But the memory of her father kept holding him back.

"So," he said casually as he would address any other housemate—although he would never ask his housemates if they were staying at the castle. "Are you staying at Hogwarts for the break?"

Alex looked entirely absorbed in checking off every classroom on the fourth floor and didn't even look up from the floorplan. "Yes," she said, scratching her quill against the parchment.

"Any special plans, or—"

"Regulus, if you don't mind, we're trying to catch people out after curfew, not warn them we're coming." Despite the politeness of her tone, Regulus didn't fail to notice the bite at the end of each word. He swallowed his sigh.

"It's the day before the break, everyone's going to be packing anyway," he said dully.

"If you're bored, you can go back to the Common Room. I can finish the round by myself."

" _Alex_ ," Regulus said. She turned around and gave him a look.

"Yes, Regulus?" She stared at his face, her face void of expression—not even annoyance—and something cracked in his demeanor despite his better knowledge that they were still in public.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice crumbling. Alex raised her eyebrows.

"For what?" she said.

"I don't know," Regulus said honestly. _For using you and making you feel cheap. For never being able to tell you how I feel. For not telling you about your dad. For dragging you into the family mess that I've always wanted to get out of._ "I don't know, but I am sorry. I—never wanted to hurt you." Alex looked away and kept walking down the corridor.

"You keep doing that, though," she said to the parchment.

"And I hate that I keep doing that."

"Doesn't change the fact that it keeps happening." She paused for a few seconds, as if deliberating if she should say more. "I don't know if I can keep doing this anymore, Reg," she finally said.

"Alex—"

"Calling you Regulus like everybody else, watching every girl in the Slytherin house flirt with you, trying to see if they can score the new Black heir, listening to boys laughing at me and how pathetic my name and family is—"

"Alex, I'm sorry—"

"But none of that would _matter_ ," Alex seethed, "if you were there."

"I—I am here. For you. I am."

"Are you?" Alex asked, looking straight into his face for the first time. "Are you really? Because for some reason, Regulus, I feel more and more alone after every time we're together."

"But try to see it from my side," Regulus said, trying to suppress the frustration that he felt—not at her, he knew that, deep inside, but at the moment she was the one calling him out on every mistake he made. "Can't you? You said a few weeks ago that we were best friends. So try to see it from my side."

"Reg—"

"I lost a brother. My only brother. And my parents won't even talk about it. In fact, they would probably hex me if I even mentioned his name. And for some reason, everyone else that I meet seems to be find with that. In fact, my own brother seems to be fine with that. Apparently I'm the only one who's grieving that he left, that he's gone, and I'm supposed to be the new heir, which I never wanted to be. And now my mother has heaped on all the disappointment that she felt at Sirius on me, expecting me to the perfect heir, and I can't disappoint her without letting the entire family dissolve, because Merlin knows that my father certainly doesn't care how my mother is doing, and most of the times it feels like I can't take a breath without my lungs burning, no matter where I am, except for one place." Regulus' words flowed out of his mouth before he could even register what he was saying. "Next to you. I feel like I can breathe next you. You're like the first ray of sunlight in a rainy day."

"Regulus." Regulus couldn't even look at Alex's face, couldn't stand to know what expression she would have there.

"So why can't you be there for me?" Regulus asked bleakly. "Just for a while?"

"I want to be there for you," Alex said quietly. "It hurts to see you struggle so much. But it also hurts me every time I try, and I don't know if you could do the same for me."

"So tell me what I can do," he said desperately.

"I don't know!" Alex's frustrated voice rang through the corridor, but she seemed to not notice. "I just don't know. Everyone's telling me that I should just end it, and even I'm telling myself that I should end it, but I don't want to, and—" her voice grew higher and higher in distress until it cracked, and Alex broke down in front of him, sobbing. Regulus realized that he'd never seen Alex cry—not even when she was talking about her family, her relatives, everything else—never. But she was crying now, and he was the reason she was crying.

"Alex," Regulus murmured, desperately trying to sound soothing. He reached out for her and held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. She didn't resist. "Alex."

She sniffled. "Reg," she sniffled. Regulus tightened his arms around her.

"Tell me."

"It's scary," she whispered.

"What's scary?"

"Mom's just—she hasn't written back."

"Maybe she's busy."

"Maybe." Alex sniffled again. "And—Dad's back again, saying that I should be careful—"

"About what?"

"I don't know, he wouldn't say," her tears had stopped, or so it felt, but her breaths were still shaky. Regulus stroked her hair. "And, and—couldn't we tell Leila, Reg? She wouldn't tell anyone…"

"Parkinson?" Regulus said skeptically.

"You're right, she's only going to say 'I told you so'…" Alex muttered darkly. Regulus' hands automatically tightened. Alex stayed silent for a while.

"Reg?" she said in a small voice.

"Hmm?"

"Won't you kiss me?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with feeling, her lashes still wet from her tears. Redness around her eyes and splashed across her cheeks from emotion, and her lips swollen from teary confessions. There was nothing else in the world. So forgetting everything else, he bent down and kissed her again and again for all he was worth.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._

* * *

The train ride back home was uneventful, except for one.

"So, Black," Parkinson, who had been quietly pursuing her _Quidditch Through the Ages_ had approached him without making a sound. "What's our plan against the Gryffindors? The final match, you know."

Regulus vaguely looked back at her. The sight outside the window hadn't been very interesting… "That's only meant for the Quidditch team to know, Leila," he said mildly.

"Alright," Parkinson said offhandedly. "Then riddle me this: what are you going to do about Alex?" Alarm jumped inside of him but Regulus forced himself to look back at her just as mildly as before.

"What about Alex?" he said, hating the way his voice sounded so perfectly calm. He remembered their stolen kisses just a few hours ago, right after breakfast when he had to leave the castle grounds. Her sweet caresses. His name on her lips. For the thousandth time Regulus wondered if he couldn't just stay at Hogwarts, an almost empty castle, sharing most of his time with her—but he had to go.

"Cut the crap," Parkinson snapped, but the pleasant smile was plastered on her face. "I know about you two." Regulus paused.

"She told you?" he asked eventually, still very calmly. Parkinson scoffed.

"No," she said. "She probably knows that I won't approve. Besides, it's not that hard to figure out." The alarm inside him jerked once again and something in his expression must've showed, because Parkinson scoffed again.

"It's not _that_ obvious. I'm just used to watching her, that's all."

"Very well," Regulus said quietly.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"My answer, Parkinson, is that it's none of your business," Regulus said pleasantly. He didn't know what it was with Parkinson and train rides—couldn't she leave him alone for once?

"And my answer, _Black_ , is that you need to get your priorities straight," Parkinson hissed. Regulus tried not to let his surprise show, but his eyebrows moved in their own accord. She called him Black, now, did she? Those within the Slytherin house were almost forbidden from calling Regulus by his family name…

"You do know that she can speak for herself, don't you?" Regulus drawled. "She doesn't need her— _friends_ defending her." The memory of Lee catching him unawares in Hogsmeade brought a sour taste in his mouth again.

" _You_ 're supposed to be one of her friends," Parkinson hissed. "And you're certainly not looking after her. So I'm intervening. Again."

"Piss off," Regulus muttered, childishly looking out the window again. Parkinson was obviously not simply going to _piss off_ , but the emergence of a sixth-year Olivia Greengrass seemed to shut her up nevertheless. Regulus could honestly say that he had never been more relieved to receive attention from a female Slytherin.

"Hello, Regulus," Greengrass purred. Parkinson left, snorting in disgust.

To his surprise, his father was waiting for him at King's Cross Station.

"Regulus," he said. "We need to discuss some matters before you arrive."

"Hello, Father," Regulus said, not without some irony. "How have you been?"

Orion Black ignored his sons's greeting completely. "There has been some new development on the Grimmauld Place," he said. "A bit of remodeling, if you will."

"Oh?" Regulus said, politely interested. It would seem that his mother had finally gotten his way and replaced the gaudy molding with something even gaudier...

"Yes," his father said, briskly walking amongst the bustling crowd at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. "Do you know how we had blocked the cellar?" Regulus remembered.

"There was too much of a draft. It was closed at the turn of the century." Orion Black nodded.

"We've decided to rebuild it," he said. Regulus tilted his head ton one side—the most he was going to show his curiosity. The cellar had been a bit of a bother, as far as Regulus understood; Grimmauld Place was never short of rooms, and Sirius Black, his great-grandfather, had decided to relocate the precious wines and spirits to a different room to get rid of the bothersome stone room.

"Why?" Regulus asked. His father looked around warily.

"Too many people here," he muttered at the corner of his mouth. "Hold my arm."

Before he had the chance to brace himself, Regulus felt his body being sucked into a whirlpool of time and space. His ears throbbed when he finally came to his senses again at the entrance hallway of his ancestral home.

"Master Black! Master Regulus!" Kreacher's high, familiar voice greeted them, and Regulus smiled down at the elf despite his father's presence.

"Hullo, Kreacher," he said. Kreacher beamed up at him, but his smile faltered when he saw his young master's face.

"Is something wrong with Master Regulus?" he asked. "Is the school food not agreeing with him?"

"Nothing's wrong, Kreacher," Regulus assured him. "It's just been a busy semester."

"Kreacher, leave us," his father said peremptorily. Kreacher did not look very pleased at the command, but obeyed it nonetheless.

"You shouldn't talk to the house-elves so easily," his father scolded him the moment Kreacher disappeared. "They're servants. What's more, they're _elves_. They're beneath you on so many levels. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Regulus said quietly. His father's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, _what_?"

"Yes, sir," Regulus said, trying to keep his defiance out of his voice. His father seemed satisfied with the answer.

"Well, then," his father said, leading him to the staircase. "Lucius Malfoy contacted us right after the party he hosted. Apparently the Recruiter was very satisfied with you, and the Dark Lord decided that the Black family should be taking larger part of his mission, as we should."

"I see," Regulus said. The news of the Dark Lord's approval of him should've filled him with pride and anticipation, but all Regulus felt was a tightening of the knot in his stomach. So Warner was satisfied with him. Was that a good thing?

"As it turned out, he needed a—holding place to keep certain things secure," his father continued. "And what other better place than Grimamuld place? Its location in London is, anyone would admit, superb, and the house itself has been kept a secret for longer than thirteen generations. Only a handful of people know its address. Not to mention, of course, the protective spells layered on the building by generations. We're a virtual fortress."

"So you've decided to remodel the cellar," Regulus concluded. "What are we keeping down there, then? Some artifact?"

"Prisoners," Orion Black answered. Regulus' steps faltered.

"Prisoners?"

"Here we are," his father answered, clasping his hand on Regulus' shoulder. They were standing in front of a door that had stood as a mere decoration for decades. "Mind, some of them are still—recalcitrant. All wandless, of course, you've nothing to fear."

"I—" Regulus looked at the door uncertainly. "What are you expecting me to do, Father?"

Orion Black smiled without humor. "Anything," he said. "They are at your command—until the Dark Lord has need for them, that is." He opened the door with a set of magical keys from his pockets and Regulus looked down the dark staircase, feeling the cold wind gush at his face.

" _Lumos_ ," he murmured, noticing that not even the light from his wand could light three steps ahead of him. Orion Black closed the door behind him, and Regulus was soon surrounded in total darkness save his wandlight. His steps echoed through the stone cellar, one, two, three, four, five…

Regulus lost count after twenty.

Coldness enveloped him, worse than darkness. Even in his relatively thick robes Regulus shivered. It was difficult to imagine any kind of life surviving this kind of environment for long. Beside him something rattled; Regulus saw that it was a goblin, almost blind in the darkness, shaking at the chains that bound him. He stood behind bars, looking resentfully at the wandlight. When their eyes met, the goblin tried to soften its features into something pleading—attempted, that is.

"Let me go," he rasped, his forked tongue flicking out every syllable. "You've got the wrong goblin. I'm not involved in anything against the Dark Lord—"

"It's no use, Snapline," a female voice said dryly from behind them. "He's not going to listen. No one will." Regulus felt his heart freeze momentarily. He knew that voice. Always full of disapproval and dislike for him. But his body was still turning around to find whom that voice belonged to. His head shouted at him to turn back and climb back up as fast as he could. But he couldn't. Just couldn't.

Sophia Wilson was watching the Black heir with an ironic smile. "We've met," she said simply. Regulus swallowed. It was difficult to speak.

"Ms. Wilson," he said. It all felt wrong. Alex's name uttered in this dreary, dark place—Regulus could scarcely believe that this was part of the house that he lived in. His stomach lurched just at the thought and Regulus tried to keep his ground, but it was becoming harder and harder.

"Just one question, Regulus," Sophia Wilson continued, and something in her sardonic demeanor wavered. "How—is Alex?"

The question did it for him. He bolted to the staircase, stumbling up the cold stone steps because he couldn't bear to hold up his wand anymore. He covered his mouth with his hand—the only thing keeping him from heaving on the ground—and somehow managed to find the closest bathroom on the first floor. He briefly saw his father waiting for him by the entryway about to ask him how it went, but for the first time in his life he disregarded his father entirely. He bent over the marble sink—passed down from the eighteenth century—and threw up the Pumpkin Pastries that he'd consumed on the train. The orange gunk, mixed with bile, slid lazily down the drain and Regulus wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell. He looked up and saw his face in the mirror.

Alex and Kreacher were right—his cheeks were hollow, his skin sallow. There were two dark bags under his eyes even though he couldn't remember being particularly tired. His lips formed a thin line out of habit, and Regulus could spy the beginnings of a deep line setting around his eyes. Fifteen. This was no face of a fifteen-year-old. His eyes, usually clear and sharp, were blood-stricken. His lips began to quiver. The lips that Alex kissed so tenderly just hours ago.

A Death Eater father. Mother part of the "Resistance." The irony that Alex was probably a pureblood wasn't lost on him. Nor did the truth come unexpected. Somehow the duality of her parents made total sense. Light and dark. Black and white. So was Alex, always torn between.

And he, Regulus Arcturus Black, was dragged right into the middle with her.

* * *

A/N: So it goes! I'd intentionally ignored some of the questions in the reviews because I didn't want to spoil anything... Thank you so much to the the reviewers, who gave me incentive to wrap the New Year present. Happy 2018, everyone!


	30. Chapter 30

"By the way, Alex, I feel like our relationship should not be built on lies, so let me tell you, quite frankly, that your father's served the Dark Lord faithfully for the last sixteen years, and that your mum's currently held prisoner in the cellar beneath my home. By the way, you don't fancy a snog right before Defense, do you?"

Regulus Black did not see that scenario going anywhere smoothly. Growling in frustration, all he managed to do was straighten his robes in the bathroom before exiting quickly into the rest of Hogwarts Express.

He gained little clarity from the rest of the break. The thought of Alex's mother—whom Alex missed dearly, Regulus knew—kept him from sleeping soundly in his bed, which was, according to the architectural plans, at least twenty feet above the cellar. His parents' requests—he should call them demands at this point—to meet his obligations, attend functions, meetings, and go over the family finance, history, and contacts, exhausted him. At the same time Regulus knew that this was only the tip of the ice berg, and that much more was to come as he grew older—late-night discussions between the sacred Twenty-Eight houses of purebloods, mingling with the "older crowd," and—

The rattling of the train shook him physically, pulling him out of the mental dark road that he seemed to be descending every minute these past few days.

The thought of joining the Dark Lord's mission and aiding him in any way should've excited him. Damn it, it did excite him, less than a year ago. Fourth year was spent researching the history of blood purification and the "Slytheirn" ideology, even though the cause was by no means restricted to Slytherins alone—that is, when he wasn't too busy having inappropriate thoughts about his best friend. His best friend who was now not supposed to be his best friend but whom he was secretly dating.

Alex. Alex, who was there for him, and kept him sane, and made him feel like—just made him _feel_ without being ashamed of the fact that he could have feelings. Who made him have improper thoughts at the most inopportune moments with her dark eyes and full lips. It wasn't that—he didn't want to say that she made him doubt the Dark Lord, because it stood in his mind without doubt that the magic of magical creatures ought to be protected and treasured and that the breaking down of the division between magical and non-magical beings was a threat to the magical community. The Dark Lord was trying to protect the magical community, and while some people took advantage of his power to take some things for their own gain and "have fun," Regulus believed with certainty that these people would gradually recede into the background as the Dark Lord's grand plan unfolded in the world. And Alex was—hesitant about the Dark Lord, because she saw all the reports of violence in _The Daily Prophet_ (the most biased reportage of his mission if there ever was one—there wasn't a single pureblood columnist providing his opinions!), and she should rightly be hesitant, if what _The Daily Prophet_ reported was the whole truth. But it wasn't the whole truth, and the knowledge that she was a pureblood—the Dark Lord wouldn't possibly let someone of muddied origins close to his intimate circle—must enable her to see the whole truth that the magical community should at least beware the nonmagical.

But in order to tell her about her bloodline he would need to explain exactly how he met her father and how he knew him and what plans he himself had for the future and that, Regulus thought, would prejudice Alex—especially if Sophia Wilson was really the member of the Order. Regulus knew that Alex's mother meant everything to her—that she was the only person that Alex really had for a long time, but perhaps Regulus could make her see that she had him, too, and that she could depend on him…

 _So tell her_ , his head whispered slyly. _Tell her about her father, and tell her that she could be with him, too, if she joined the Dark Lord's circle_.

 _She would never listen_ , another side, more insidious, yet more rational, argued back. _She wouldn't want to join._

 _Does it matter?_ The first side grumbled. _You want her with you forever, don't you?_ The other side, apparently, ran out of an argument for a while, until it suddenly popped the question:

 _But do you really want her to join?_

The impatient looks that he'd gotten from his cohorts about forcing Alex to join the ranks (the Corridor Meetings were still going strong, and Lestrange's annoying decision to involve Alex in this still hung thickly in the air whenever the talk of recruitment came along) certainly induced him to answer yes, that he would much rather have Alex by his side through the entire war than have her fight for the opposite side, or constantly worry about her being targeted for being "undecided." But images of Alex and him alone in a cabin in middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but wind and nature and their breaths, kept creeping back to his mind, interrupting his thoughts. What it would be like to be away from it all, away from the politics of blood purity and ideologies and people, and just _be_ with her—but his conscience didn't allow him this kind of indulgence. Of course he should do something to make the world better.

That did not unfortunately mean that his resolve remained steadfast when he saw her for the first time in a week.

She was in the Great Hall having dinner, but she was sitting by the Hufflepuff table, the table arrangements having become somewhat wonky during the break due to absence of students. She stared intently at a chessboard, tapping her fork impolitely against the wooden table. Lee sat next to her, watching her strategizing over the board with an amused smile. Next to him sat Lupin, looking quite entertained by the duo. Jealousy stabbed straight at Regulus' heart. So Lee could sit there—she would move tables to sit next to him—and be seen with her in public and smile at her. He couldn't.

As if she could sense the intensity of his stare, Alex looked up and their eyes met.

A strange list of emotions played across her face. Gladness, shown by an emergent wide smile, which was quickly suppressed by caution, followed immediately by dissatisfaction at having to hide her emotions. Something level came over her face, as though she had mastered all her emotions and felt nothing for him, but the ways she straightened her back told him a different story.

 _Seventh floor_ , he mouthed silently. Having seen her nod, he turned away and joined his housemates in the Slytherin table.

He at dinner perfunctorily, not really tasting anything that he put in his mouth. His heart slammed against the ribcage, making his throat constrict uncomfortably. Tonight. He had to tell Alex everything. He couldn't just go on pretending as though nothing had happened. _Tell Alex. Tell Alex. Tell Alex_.

The said person stood up from the Hufflepuff table and, packing her chess-pieces, left the Hall without giving it a second glance. Regulus looked down at his food glumly, pondering whether he had any energy left in him to swallow. Hogwarts food, which rivalled Kreacher's own cooking, shouldn't have put him off like this. But the exhausting merry-go-round in his head left no other room in his thoughts for anything like food. He stood up wordlessly and left the Hall, feeling his feet carry him to the Room of Requirements more than his thoughts.

But the sight that greeted him there took his breath away.

The room was cheerily lit as ever, with armchairs and a table in the middle. In the corner was the bed that he nor Alex seemed to be able to vanish, but the bed was an especially welcoming sight that evening. Alex was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, her ancient-looking chess set spread out in front of her. She was polishing one of the rooks with a rag, her face radiant in the firelight. She didn't hear him come in, and it wasn't until he crouched down in front of her, examining the pieces with mild interest—they looked old, and Regulus wondered where she got them, seeing as Alex wasn't really in the habit of buying non-necessities. She looked up and the genuine smile, which she'd so carefully suppressed in the Great Hall, came up again.

"Hullo," she said, putting down the marble piece. "How was your break?"

 _Tell her. Tell her_.

But the warmth of her eyes made him want to ignore every rational thought in his head.

"It was fine." His voice sounded like nothing of his own. "Yours?"

"It was quiet," she answered, frowning slightly. "Is something wrong?" But of course she would notice. They always noticed each other.

 _Tell her._

"Nothing interesting?" he murmured, his long fingers caressing the smooth surface of the play-things, feeling how the cool marble surface had heated slightly in the direction of the fire.

 _Tell—_

Alex smiled, puzzled. "You didn't answer the question," she said. Regulus let go of the marble piece, his hand pressing into the soft curly carpet.

"Didn't I?" his voice was so low that even he couldn't completely hear himself. His mind was hazy, filled with nothing but the warm fire and Alex's unique scent—bittersweet lavender, mixed with something crisper—like snowfield in a winter day.

"No," the bemused smile mixed in her low voice was the last straw. He saw his face reflected in her dark eyes—saw his dark, needy expression, her surprise, her willingness—and touched her lips with his, shutting his eyes close. He couldn't see his face anymore, and that made him glad.

Something took over him, commanding his body despite the messages from his brain that cried out otherwise. He pushed her down the carpet, pressing his body against hers. His hands searched her greedily, losing their usual caution. Regulus grinded his hips closer to hers. Alex gasped. But this wasn't enough. Somehow, tonight, nothing felt enough.

His sweater came off. He couldn't remember how, but he felt the heat of the fire caressing his bare skin. His stomach met hers—her knits have come off as well. But when?

Alarmed, he pulled back. "Is this too much?" he asked frantically, looking down at the sight of the girl lying under him, her hair fanned out on the floor widely, her cheeks flushed from the heat, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes, unusually bright, looked back at him and his own eyes darkened.

"No," Alex murmured, pulling him down again by his shoulders. Her eyes roamed over his torso, as if _she_ liked the sight that she saw as well. "Come back here."

The words broke down what remaining restraint that he had. The new heat from her skin transferring directly to his own—it addled his mind. Regulus could barely remember where he was (the knowledge that they would probably remain undiscovered was more than enough), forgot the piece of news that he had to tell her—he could remember no compulsion but what he felt right now, to be with her completely, closer to her, inside of her—

A sound came from her mouth, an unexpected breath, and she threw her head back, her mouth opening in surprise. The sight tipped him over the edge and Regulus let out a ragged breath as ripples of sensations ran up his spine from his stomach. His whole body slumped into her, a ragged bag of bones and muscles, and she clung to him, his whole frame, as though he was the only one keeping her safe from falling away completely. He reached out for her instinctively, burying his face in her hair, feeling her timid, careful pecks on his cheeks. They lay there a while in silence, listening to the burning log crackle.

Eventually, Alex pushed him gently to his side, rolling onto her side to face him. Her eyes refused to look at him directly and her fingers played awkwardly with the trail of hair leading south on his stomach, but a small smile on her lips that told him that it hadn't been completely horrible for her. Regulus couldn't suppress the grin that was threatening to erupt on his face and quickly kissed her on her lips, pulling her close again in his arms.

"Hello," he said. Alex smiled again, a bit more widely, and kissed him back in return.

"Hi," she murmured shyly. Regulus nuzzled into her cheek, letting the grin take over his face. Damn propriety. "That was—"

"Shh," Regulus said, kissing her again. This closeness, this intimacy, made him feel safer than he'd felt in months, and the sensation made him bold. "I know." She snugged closer to him, letting their scent wash over them.

"Reg?" she asked after a while, drowsiness clear in her voice.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we could—" _yawn_ — "stay like this a little longer?"

"'Course we can, sweetheart," Regulus murmured, kissing her forehead, but Alex didn't respond. When he looked down she was already fast asleep.

* * *

Regulus was hiding something.

That is, he was hiding more than usual. Alex knew that Regulus was a reserved person—always had been, even as an eleven-year-old—and that Slytherins in general were not in habit of divulging family or personal secrets to each other—possibly because there was always a chance that others would use that information against them in some way. But Regulus was forthcoming with her. _Or maybe that was what she liked to believe_ , Alex wondered as she briskly walked to the Great Hall from her Ancient Runes lesson one early May afternoon. God knew what Regulus Black was not saying to her.

But it wasn't simply his reticence. Regulus was becoming erratic in his behavior, as well. Whenever they had some time alone together, Regulus would either completely overwhelm her with polite, meaningless conversation asking her a thousand things about the mundane daily routine and explaining all the things he'd done in the past week, making her laugh with his dry humor (Alex supposed that this wasn't so bad—she'd missed their meaningless chats in the library), or wordlessly snog the sense out of her—usually going much further than just snogging. The memory of what happened a last evening in the Room of Requirement made her blush in the corridor despite the May breeze. Since Easter break—it was more than a month ago—these… events became something of a regularity, but whenever she tried to bring up the subject, Regulus kissed her again, making her forget what she wanted to discuss in the first place. And it wasn't that she minded these _events_ —quite the contrary—but at the same time…

It felt as though Regulus was aging a year each day, as though it was a sheer miracle that he didn't collapse on the corridor floor any second. Something was going on, but he wouldn't tell her, and it hurt that he felt unwilling to say anything. Had she done something to upset him in some way?

"There you are," Leila said, feigning annoyance when Alex arrived at the Great Hall. "You do realize that I took the precious time out of my busy schedule to accommodate this review session, right?"

"We both have O.W.L.s in less than a month," Alex said drily, rolling her eyes. Leila shrugged, stuffing a potato in her mouth.

"Whadev," she said. "If I have to recite one more time the twenty-seven troll leaders in the 1347 Uprising I'm going to puke."

"But you need—"

"History of Magic, yeah," Leila glumly stabbed at her carrots now. She confided in Alex when the first began to study for the O.W.L.s that she was actually vying for a position at the _Daily Prophet_ as a sports writer—Quidditch reporter, to be exact. Alex knew that it was a very competitive position and that most people who did not have background in Quidditch had almost no chance of getting it, but didn't think it was wise to tell Leila something that she already knew. Besides, it was admirable that Leila already knew what she wanted to do, while Alex was still struggling over the brochures that Slughorn had carelessly spread in front of her during their mandatory meeting.

"It'll be fine," Alex said reassuringly. "I made flashcards."

"Oh yes, the Muggle flashcards," Leila said dully, but there was no malice in her words. "More magical than magical… non-flashcards."

"More magical than not studying," Alex said, trying to sound light, but the sight of Regulus entering the Great Hall with Rosier, Avery, and Rebecca in tow caught her attention, making her falter. Next to her Leila groaned.

"Great," she drawled. "Just what I need."

"Come on!" Rebecca was laughing in her high, tinkling voice. "That's just _so not true_."

"It is," Avery said, guffawing. "Go on, tell her, Parkinson—"

"Come on, Leila," Rebecca's blue eyes shined brightly in mirth. Alex felt like the corner she and Leila occupied exuded darkness in comparison. "It's just not true."

"What's not true?" Leila asked without a smile. Rebecca shook her head exasperatedly.

"Just because a couple is in a physical relationship they're not going to be emotionally intimate," Rosier mimicked Rebecca's words in falsetto. "What a load of crap—you should know, Parkinson." Alex could see that Leila was stung by Rosier's casual reference to their relationship, but Leila, to her credit, regarded her ex-boyfriend coolly.

"But it _can_ be both," Rebecca argued. "Look, it's not that I don't enjoy physical aspects of the relationship—"

"Is this one of your New Witch nonsense, Rebecca?" Avery drawled. Several boys sniggered around them, and Alex felt like kicking Avery under the table.

"Shut up," Rebecca said without venom. "Look, just look at me and Regulus in fourth year—" several boys sniggered at the reference and even Regulus looked up from his plate, his face the epitome of serenity except for his eyes, which roved in discomfort. Snape, who had been sitting in the vicinity without saying anything, pressed his thin lips together—it seemed that all but Rebecca shared the knowledge that as far as Regulus was concerned, "Rebecca and Regulus in fourth year" was the very proof that physical relationships and emotional intimacy couldn't go together.

"Do you want to murder someone, Alex?" Leila asked slyly under her breath as Leila began to explain why, according to the mocked New Witch column in the _Daily Prophet_ , a woman could be in a loving relationship and still be sexually active.

"Pardon?" Alex asked blandly, reaching for her pumpkin juice.

"You're wrong, Rebecca," Avery said in a loud, obnoxious voice. "I'm telling you, if the thing's getting physical and physical only, it's not going anywhere else. Take it from a guy." As if he'd sufficiently expressed his masculinity, Avery went back to his food with a puffed chest.

"Git," Leila muttered. "As I was saying, Alex, you looked like you wanted to murder someone."

"Avery's being a git," Alex said defensively, hoping to hide her face with her hair. The question that kept emerging in her head would not leave her alone.

"That he is," Leila conceded. "Come on, then, let's go to the library. History of Magic awaits." Leila stood up and Alex followed quietly, debating whether she should say anything to Leila. On the one hand, she was very knowledgeable about boys, or at least acted like she was, and it was always comforting to get second opinion. On the other hand, Leila didn't like the fact that she and Reg were still together, and what she might have to say would strengthen that opinion even more. On the other hand—

"So I have to tell you something," Alex blurted out on their fifth turn around the moving stairwell. Leila rolled her eyes.

"Obviously," she said.

"You can't tell anyone," Alex immediately said, biting her lip nervously.

"Alright," Leila answered easily.

"Well, I guess it's more of a question?"

"Okay." Another easy answer.

"Although I'm not really sure, do you think—"

"Alex, just ask me the damned thing."

"Okay," Alex said, her embarrassment getting better of her defensiveness. "Y'know what Rebecca was talking about back there, about—physical—thing—and everything else?" Leila gave Alex a bored look.

"Yeah, sure."

"Do you think it's true?"

"Alex, you _watched_ me and Rosier for the better part of last year. Do you think Rebecca the slag's right?" The exasperation in Leila's voice made Alex feel like the most immature child at Hogwarts.

"I mean, I don't really know what happened between you two—"

"It was physical. From the beginning. Rosier was clear about that, and I was clear about that." Leila looked out the lance window, apparently distracted by a Quidditch game, but looked back at Alex with unexpected frustration. "I thought it was obvious," she said.

"Kinda," Alex said sheepishly. "And kind of not? I don't know these things." Leila shook her head.

"Tell me about it," she muttered darkly. "But why do you suddenly ask? It's not like the Slytherin Prince is going to do anything more inappropriate than looking at you for more than five seconds." Leila looked at Alex expectantly. Alex looked away, trying to hide her face again. Leila's eyes widened.

"You _didn't_ ," she said in a hushed voice. Alex's eyes widened in response.

"Wha—no. _No_." She shook her head vehemently. "We didn't!"

Leila still looked at her suspiciously. "What is it, then?" she asked.

"Well, I mean, we definitely haven't, but, y'know," Alex looked around uncomfortably. "We've done _some_ things."

Leila rolled her eyes. "So what exactly _is_ going on?" she asked.

"I don't know," Alex said, looking out the Quidditch field again; it seemed that Leila had unconsciously led them to the field instead of the library (sometimes her friend's tenacity was scary). The Hufflepuff team was playing. "It's like—it's not that we don't try to talk, but whenever we do, we end up—not talking." Leila scrunched up her nose.

"You sure you're not avoiding talking?"

"What?" Alex looked at her, bemused. "No, I don't think so. At least, I don't think I am." Her suspicion about Regulus resurfaced. "Reg, though—"

"Oy, you think you can call yourself a Chaser with an aim like that? Wheezers have better aim, and they don't have any arms!" Leila shouted suddenly across the field, then looked at Alex with a half-apologetic look. "Sorry, couldn't resist," she said abashedly. Alex shook her head in amusement despite herself.

"You think that's what happening?" she asked instead. "We're avoiding talking?"

"Nothing better than to shut up a conversation like good ol' snogging," Leila grunted, pulling her backpack with her up the stands.

"Thanks a lot," Alex said sourly. Leila shrugged.

"I don't know exactly what it is," she said. "I don't know Black all that much, to be honest, even though we've known each other since we were three. But what I _can_ say is, if _you_ feel like the relationship's getting too physical without making much progress everywhere else, then _you_ should be able to decide what you want to do, you know? Maybe he's not worth that much investment. Maybe you're both having fun. I don't know," she ended the tirade bitterly. Alex stole a look at Leila's frown.

"Okay," Alex sighed, leaning into the chair. The afternoon sun was unusually warm and pleasant, and Alex imagined that she could almost feel unguarded in that place, soaking up the sun, smelling the spring breeze.

"Time!" Diggory, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team captain, called out. "Take break for fifteen, guys." Leila scoffed.

"I swear," she said, "Diggory's letting off his team too easy—"

"And you talk too much about other people's teams," a new voice entered the conversation. Alex opened her eyes and squinted at the sunlight.

"Hullo," she said, closing her eyes again and letting her head fall into the benches above her.

"Hello," Henyrk sat next down to her, and Alex could almost hear him smiling. "How's the studying going?"

"Absolutely horribly," Alex said.

"It's not that bad," Leila said. "Alex made flash cards."

"Did they work?" Henryk asked, bemused.

"We'll see in a month," Alex drawled. "I'll send you the results when they come out."

"With all the time I put in? You'd better, no?" Henryk said, shifting to drink water. Alex discovered to her surprise that Henryk was rather knowledgeable in Ancient Runes—or, as Leila put it bluntly, "bloody brilliant"—and he'd helped both of them in the library when he could outside Quidditch practices and his visits to Hagrid, the groundkeeper.

"You're so lucky that you don't have to take an exam," Leila said, groaning. Henryk, as a transfer student, didn't have to take any exams, especially considering that he had enrolled several years under his actual age. "You did take exams at Durmstrang, though, didn't you?"

Henryk shrugged. "I did have to take an exam to graduate. I'd much rather take the O.W.L.s, though." Alex frowned. Although Henryk never said that he went to Durmstrang, everyone assumed that he did. After all, there weren't many schools in Bulgaria, or Eastern Europe to begin with, that taught magic—

"C'mon," Leila scoffed. "What can be worse than the O.W.L.s?"

Henryk smiled thinly. "A four-month exam?"

"Four months?" Leila repeated skeptically.

"Sometimes it goes up to a year, if the student's really bad. That hasn't happened in years, though." Something in his tone told Alex that he was sharing a secret joke with her, but Alex couldn't tell what the joke was.

"Well, whatever the case, we have to get ready for our exam," Alex said dully, sitting up. She stretched lethargically.

"Fine," Leila harrumphed. "But first let me talk to Diggory for five minutes."

"Do you mean badger?" Alex muttered, but Leila had already bounced toward the Hufflepuff captain.

"She'll go far," Henryk said, clearly amused.

"She'll be the death of every Quidditch team captain in England," Alex said, laughing. "But yeah, you got to admire that, right?" They sat in companionable silence for a while.

"I'm leaving after the last game," Henryk said suddenly. Alex looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"The Fifth year classes are in full review mode. I'm not going to learn anything new in class, and there's not much to do except for Quidditch practice…" Henryk shrugged. "The last match's against Ravenclaw, so Diggory's not very hopeful, but with luck we might get third place, I suppose."

"So you're leaving? Just like that?" Alex's voice sounded strange to her ears. Not quite shaky, but still—

"Yeah," Henryk said. He smiled at her. "Come on, don't tell me that you'll miss me."

"Don't be stupid," Alex said, her voice thick, and looked away. She watched the grass sway to the breeze.

"I've been thinking," Henryk said. "About the career thing? Come on, you've been carrying all those brochures around," he said to Alex's surprised look.

"I don't know," Alex said. "I just can't imagine being anywhere and feeling—okay about being there. You know what I mean?" Henryk's fingers began to leaf through the brochures sticking out from her bag.

"How about this?" he said, picking out one from the pack. Alex frowned at it.

"Curse-breaking?" she said incredulously. "That's, like, really hard to get into, and—"

"Really dangerous, yeah," Henryk said, grinning. "You also have to be really talented in Defense and Charms—knowledge in Ancient Runes is a must. You fit the description rather well, don't you think? Besides, you won't have to stay at a place for more than two months at a time, tops."

Alex looked at him disbelievingly. "Curse-breaking?" she repeated in disbelief.

" _And_ the compensation's pretty generous. Prospects in moving into other fields also not bad, though you might want to, y'know, try to keep your limbs intact until then." Alex listened to the way Henryk almost carelessly answered every worry she had in her mind about financial security and—how did he even know these things? Alex didn't remember telling him about every detail of her family affairs.

"Okay," she said. "I'll think about it." Henryk shrugged again.

"And what about you?" Alex asked after a while. "You said you graduated. You need to get a job, too, right?"

Henryk smiled an odd smile; it was as if he knew exactly how unpleasant life was going to be to him and he was about to laugh at it. "I'm sure I'll find something," he said. "Nothing glorified, but it'll keep me alive."

"That's a waste of your talents, don't you think?" Alex said without thinking. Henryk looked at her with another odd look, one quite different from his previous one. He looked at her in the eyes and something made her turn away, blushing.

"Thank you, Alex," he said quietly. "That means more than you know." Alex scratched her head uncomfortably. Thankfully, Leila returned, looking very dissatisfied.

"That idiot Diggory won't listen to what I have to say,"' she complained to Alex.

"He's the captain," Alex said.

"Most unfortunate for the Hufflepuff team," Leila snapped. "Offense intended, Lee."

"None taken."

"Let's go, Alex," Leila said, clearly too irritated to perceive any words. "We have studying to do." Alex wanted to point out that it was Leila who first led them away from the library, but had seen far too much of irritated Leila to argue. She turned back to look at Henryk, but he'd already sat off toward the Quiddditch field without pausing to look at her.

For the first time, Alex kept an eye out for a Quidditch game that didn't involve the Slytherin team (she'd been dragged to every single on since Regulus made the team—and the obligation became even more important after he became the captain and then her boyfriend). The Hufflepuff game was less than three days away, she found out immediately from Leila, and ignored the inquiring look that she received with the answer.

"No new romance on the horizon?" Leila drawled, but she sounded more like she approved than she disapproved. Alex looked at her in shock.

"What?" Leila shrugged. "If you ask me, he's the one you should be with, not the preciousReg."

"We're not like that," Alex said firmly.

"You know, the oddest thing is, I almost believe that."

The game itself went as Henryk predicted—the luckless Hufflepuffs lost the match, earning the fourth place in the Hogwarts Cup for good. Even Leila seemed rather dejected despite her commitment to fair commentary that the Hufflepuff team had lost ("The poor sods, what can you do, with that bigheaded captain of theirs—") and Alex was about to go down from the commentator's box to tell Henryk good job when McGonagall stopped her in her tracks.

"Miss Wilson," she said seriously, "we need to talk."

"Oh," Alex said. "With all due respect, professor, could this wait? It's just that I'd like to—"

"I'm afraid it cannot," McGonagall interrupted her. "Your grandparents had responded to my letter concerning your situation this summer. Your mother is still—away on work and Augustus Wilson made it clear that you were not welcome in his house." From the way McGongall's nose twitched irritably, Alex could surmise how she felt about Alex's grandfather's response to her letter. Despite McGonagall's sympathy, however, Alex felt her heart sink a little.

"Oh," she said quietly.

"Don't worry, I've found a good place for you," McGonagall continued briskly. "The Potters are more than happy to have—"

"I beg your pardon, Professor?" Leila, whose eavesdropping skills reached the level of professionality, interjected loudly. "I thought you just said—"

"The Potters, Miss Parkinson." If the way McGonagall's lips threatened to curve amusedly wasn't the proof of her grudging affection for Leila, Alex didn't know what was. "The Potters are old friends with the Wilsons, and Mrs. Potter has gladly agreed to let Miss Wilson come live with them for the summer."

"I don't know what to say," Alex said quietly.

"You can say no," McGonagall said, "but do get back to me before the week is over, Miss Wilson." With those words McGonagall left the commentator's box and Alex's feet carried her to the window, where she could see the entire field.

"Is this true, though?" Leila was going off at her usual rapid speed. "I mean, I knew your mom's from the family, but the Potters? Do you think you'll have to live with James Potter?" A strange glint came into her eyes. "You don't think you'll get to play Quidditch with him, do you?"

"He's gone," Alex said, her eyes searching the field. But somehow, she knew that she wouldn't find him no matter how long she looked.

"What?" Leila said.

"Henryk," Alex said. "He's gone."

* * *

A/N And so ends the Fifth year! Thank you to all those reviewed :0


	31. Chapter 31

Previously in _The Soldier_ : the fifth year ended as Henryk disappeared, Alex and Regulus' relationship is heading... who knows? and as always, Altair Wymond left with a typically cryptic remark in Hogsmeade while Sophia Wilson's imprisoned under the Grimmuald Place. So continuing...

* * *

Alex sighed. The racket the boys were making on the piano was possibly the worst noise she had ever heard—and she was roommates with Rebecca Goyle.

She debated on whether she ought to shout at them to shut them up or ignore them. Based on past experiences, it was probably wiser to ignore them.

Once she had asked, nicely, if Potter could please keep the results of his Quidditch practices with Black to himself, seeing as no one else was really there to listen at all. This request resulted in insults, shouting matches and ultimately Mrs. Potter banning Potter and Black from playing Quidditch and a fluffy toffee on desk that Alex realized too late made her gag.

" _Muffliato_ ," she muttered dispiritedly at the door before returning to her Transfiguration essay.

It had been three weeks since she'd arrived at Potter Manor. Mrs. and Mr. Potter had welcomed with her with open arms, saying that they had always wanted a daughter as well as a son, but their _sons_ , as they were fond of saying, were not so amenable.

Potter, for the most part, had no problem with Alexandra Wilson other than that she was a Slytherin and that Sirius Black, his mate of five years, had a problem with her. Sirius Black, who hated Slytherins with all his might on principle, hated Alexandra Wilson more so because she was a Slytherin who was apparently stupid enough to have been his brother's girlfriend, past or present. And how much he loved to vex Slytherins with ill judgement, Alex found out quickly enough.

Things started out innocently, with all her shirt dyed red and gold, and her soaps tampered with some potion that turned her skin and hair purple. Then, one morning, she found all her clothes swinging merrily on top of the trees in the backyard, followed by waking up and finding herself in middle of the Potters' grounds (Potter of course had a house with grounds, that spoiled git), lying on a bed that was neatly placed on dewy, green grass.

Alex suspected that Black actually considered himself gentleman for letting her sleep on the bed, instead of dumping her on wet grass itself.

Alex then had to borrow Mr. Potter's old broom to retrieve all her clothes and confess to Mrs. Potter about her predicament, risking appearing like a cowardly telltale. Really. It shouldn't have mattered to her how she would appear to Potter and Black, but she did not wish to appear cowardly. It simply wouldn't do.

Alex gritted her teeth, realizing that _Muffliato_ didn't work. The racket only seemed to grow louder—it seemed that they were trying to play Satanius' piano etude and Beethoven's sonata at the same time, and poorly, too. Either they were having time of their lives playing the piano—which Alex doubted—or they were trying to rile her up again. Well, it wouldn't work. She would not be played with by some ridiculous boys who could quite probably win Peeves in "Who is the Most Immature Being in Hogwarts?" contest.

"Alexandra!" she heard Mrs. Potter shout. Alex sighed. Breakfast. Time to face those... _marauders_ , as they called themselves proudly, as though they were proud to be thieves, cause havoc during lessons and terrorize younger students and practically every Slytherin that happened to cross their way. Groaning, she stood up, her shoulders stiff from hours of studying, and went downstairs slowly, treading carefully lest she might step on a dungbomb or some other trickery they might have planted.

It wasn't that staying with the Potters was in any way bad. Alex was deeply obliged to Mr. and Mrs. Potter for taking her in when she had practically nowhere to go to, and the mansion was lovely—there was a large library which she could use freely, house-elves did most of domestic work, and their grounds stretched to the point where Alex could only see a green horizon (if anything Alex found the newly founded luxuries rather uncomfortable). She was provided three square meals a day without anyone hinting that she ought to make compensations and Mrs Potter was very kind to her.

Still, she was constantly on edge. She had to keep a lookout everywhere she went, lest she should be attacked without any means of defense. She could only imagine how other Slytherins would react should they hear the news of her staying with the Potters. She had mentioned it to Regulus in passing during one of their—er, clandestine meetings, thinking that it was best if he knew—at least he wouldn't be worried about her whereabouts—and he had answered, rather ironically, "Well, I suppose you'd be safe, wouldn't you be?"

Her steps faltered momentarily and Alex looked down on the staircase, the ancient wood that had supported many generations of Potters before she entered the house.

And what? They were entering their sixth year. This wasn't the time to figure out the future—at least, it wasn't supposed to be, but even Alex, who was less involved in the wizard politics, felt her choices and freedom being taken away from her. It had never been much of a secret that Regulus was intent on joining the Dark Lord as soon as he got the chance, and she couldn't fathom a life where they were apart, standing on opposite sides of the battlefield. What if she—stayed out of it all? Not choose sides? But she _had_ to choose, had to decide whether she would fight, choose what she would do for a living quickly, because no one could guarantee that her life would last ten years.

Just like her mother.

Alex ignored the last thought. No one knew what became of her mother, it seemed, and neither McGonagall nor Mrs. Potter could give her any new information on her whereabouts. If—but Alex stopped herself. Her mother must be fine. She was—smart, and quick-witted, and she would've survived.

Between her friends siding up with the Dark Lord, and her mother fighting against him, she didn't know whose side she ought to root for. Yes, most of wizard community would side with her mother, the good side, the better side. But she knew all the Slytherins who wanted to become Death Eaters. Yes, they did have problems, but didn't everyone else?—they mattered as much to her as other people's lives, and Alex didn't know how anyone could stand on one side and wish for total destruction and death for those on the other side.

Shaking from her reverie, Alex came to a scene that became familiar to her from her three weeks with the Potters: a large dining room, complete with wide, sturdy oak table and six ornate chairs that were more comfortable than they looked. A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling and in the corner stood a cabinet holding Mrs. Potter's finest china. The walls were light yellow, bordering on white, but Bordeaux-colored curtains and maple floorboards gave a majestic, grave air to the room.

"Hello, Alex," Mrs. Potter said, smiling. "The scones are freshly out of the oven. Raisin or cranberry?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," Alex said for the uncountable time, sitting in her usual chair. Her tone was serene, but inside she was warily counting the seconds before Potter or Black would explode with a witty comment. She picked out a scone and began to split it in half slowly.

"Please, dear, Euphemia is fine," Mrs. Potter said for the umpteenth time.

"Slept well, Alex?" Potter asked briskly, his eyes sparkling from the piano exercise, no doubt. Alex felt her alarm heighten, but she merely straightened on the outside and said, genially,

"Very well, Potter, You?"

"Rather well, myself," he said.

They sat in silence. Alex wondered why Potter hasn't done anything outrageous by now, as was their usual morning exchange.

"I slept well, as well," Black said loudly.

"And that's wonderful, dear," Mrs. Potter said.

"Where's Dad?" Potter said, quite possibly trying to break the sudden tension that began when he'd asked the question. Alex tried to casually pour milk into her cup. Her wand was upstairs...

"Morning walk," Mrs. Potter said with good-natured exasperation that could only come from thirty years of marriage. "He found a Muggle milkman with a funny bag."

Mr. Potter was (Alex had hard time believing this at first) the inventor of the Sleekeazy potion who had sold his invention for a vast fortune, amassed from millions of young witches who felt insecure about their hair. Alex sometimes wondered ironically if Potter didn't feel the impulse to use his father's invention—surely, his messy hair could only profit from the remedy—but she valued her sleep too much to risk it for a moment of satisfaction.

"Oh," Potter replied easily.

"Do I still have to keep my motorbike hidden?" Black asked in a similar easy tone that suggested nothing of his status as a permanent guest. Alex stabbed a piece of fruit a bit too violently. Alex disliked seeing Black smile. That he _could_ smile, after causing much heartache and disappointment to his family. Regulus, she knew, had never been quite the same after the Christmas incident, a haggard look in his eyes that most people failed to notice. Everyone had congratulated the new heir, saying that the place had finally landed upon the right owner, and that the Blacks were better off without the bloodtraitor. But Alex knew that he was not all right—Regulus being Regulus, constantly worrying about his brother as well as the rest of his family, trying to think of ways to keep everything together—

Clearly, he was mistaken to be so worried.

"Yes," Mrs. Potter and James said at once. Mrs. Potter was, Alex learned to her surprise, the prototype of James Potter, and often the partner in crime when it came to Potter and Black's new project—in this case, a Muggle motorbike that Black had found in a dumpster, and since taken under his wing. Mr. Potter, on the other hand, was a more peace-loving fellow than anything else who, while not directly disapproving of his son's shenanigans, refused to support them wholeheartedly.

Sirius groaned theatrically.

"The flying charm's almost finished," Sirius whined. "I just have to incorporate it into the engine. It'll be done soon!" he looked like a kid who wanted to go fly on a broom.

"Go play Quidditch," Mrs. Potter promptly said.

Both Potter and Black harrumphed. Alex raised her eyebrow—it was perhaps the first time these boys had shown anything but unconditional adulation for the sport.

"Two players," Potter grumbled. "It's no fun."

"Well, then, I'm sure that Alex would be happy to play with you," Mrs. Potter said, casually.

"But Alex doesn't play!" Potter blurted out, which was followed by a frown: "Do you?" he asked.

"No," Alex muttered quietly, keeping her eyes on her tea.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Potter said briskly as she poured milk into her son's tea. "Alex was excellent in gathering the clothes that you boys had strewn about." Alex didn't know how to say that picking up clothes from immobile trees was hardly a challenge, so she tried to smile without saying anything. James, on the other hand, perked up at the memory.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "You were a decent flyer."

"Mail!" Black said loudly. "Look, we have the owls—Kaiser, and—" he frowned. "What are those?"

"Official ministry owls," Mrs. Potter's eyes grew wide. "Oh, your O.W.L.s results must be out!"

Several things happened at once.

Potter ducked under the table, as if the ministry owls outside the kitchen could somehow peck him to death. Black straightened his back and sniffed the air, oddly canine in his form, as if he could determine his grade by the smell on the parchment. Alex crouched even more on her muffin, feeling the grease on her fingertips and wishing that she could just curl up into a ball. O.W.L.s results. They weren't the end of the world, but Alex knew that the next—forty something years of her life depended on them. It wasn't like she wanted to become a billionaire—she didn't think billionaires got many O.W.L.s anyway, but still—but it would be nice to know that she would have options to support her in the future…

"There we are," Mrs. Potter was at a point in life where few excitements could really move her. "This one's for you, Jamie—Sirius—Alex…" Alex accepted the heavy envelope with dread clawing its way out of her throat.

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," Alex said hoarsely. The envelope felt especially thick and unforgiving between her fingers.

On the envelope her full name was written in bold, green letters: Alexandra Sophia Wilson. Below her name was her home address, but on the side there was a carefully written note in purple that read: _redirect to Potter residence_. Alex looked glumly at the official ministry seal and pried the letter open with her fingers. Based on the noises coming from either side of her, neither Potter nor Black had bothered to look at the envelope and were now exchanging their results. Alex tried to block them out; it shouldn't matter how they did, what mattered was how she did…

Ordinary Wizarding Levels

Alexandra Sophia Wilson (Atria Polaris Wymond)

Ancient Runes—O

Arithmancy—E

Astronomy—E

Charms—E

Defense Against the Dark Arts—O

Herbology—E

History of Magic—A

Potions—E

Transfiguration—E

"Bloody hell," Alex murmured under her breath. Black, with his canine hearing, perked up at the sound.

"What was that?" he asked loudly, turning toward her. Alex looked around mildly, making sure to put down the letter face-down so that the boys wouldn't get a peek.

"Nothing," she said mildly. Potter's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but somehow Alex didn't detect malic in his looks…

"It's not nothing," he announced. "C'mon, Alex, how many O.W.L.s did you get?"

"How many did you get?" Alex shot back, feeling immature—but how else was she supposed to deflect the question?

"Seven," Potter said promptly. "Failed Divination and History of Magic, but it's not like I was going to continue with them after this year, so who cares?"

"That's wonderful, James," Mrs. Potter, apparently caring even less than her son about his score for Divination. "How did you do, Sirius, dear?"

"Six," Sirius muttered, "but I was taking eight subjects to begin with and—"

"Outstanding in Transfiguration!" James announced, patting Sirius on his back. "Outstanding, for both of us."

"Nice," Alex muttered, unsure if she should be appreciative or insecure. She'd certainly didn't get outstanding in Transfiguration, but she did get Os in Defense—her favorite subject—and Ancient Runes…

Alex paused and looked down at the parchment sadly.

It wasn't just her mother who had been out of contact all summer. Henryk Lee, wherever he was—Alex liked to think that he was somewhere in Bulgaria, in the high mountains or meadows perhaps (she didn't know what Bulgaria was like), happily settled back with his family. She didn't realize until she was on Hogwarts Express headed back to London that she didn't really know anything about him or his family, other than the fact that he had a sister—or was it two? —that she didn't know him at all, even though it had sometimes felt like she knew everything there was to know about him. How odd. But maybe that's why he didn't write. They weren't close enough to write each other letters. Alex supposed that Henryk would be happy enough where he was without knowing that she'd gotten an O in Ancient Runes thanks to him.

But that didn't explain why Regulus was not writing.

Maybe he was—maybe his parents confiscated his owls again. Maybe he ran out of ink. Maybe—but Alex remembered the last meeting they had before they had to part ways in front of Hogwarts Express, and Regulus had promised her, _promised_ her, murmuring lowly in her ear, that he would miss her, miss her terribly, and that he would write to her every day if he could.

But so far she'd received nothing from him and all the letters she'd sent remained unresponded.

"Hey!" Alex yelled as she was shaken out of her reverie. Potter, the utterly immature tyke that he was, had grabbed her O.W.L.s results from under her nose while she was distracted, and managed to run across the room before she could even stand up. Damn his Quidditch reflexes.

"Let's see how the quiet Alexandra did, now, shall we?" Potter gloated.

"Give it back, Potter," Alex said exasperatedly, but the satisfied grin was slowly sliding off Potter's smug face as he read the results.

"Nine O.W.L.s, huh?" he said after a while, and handed the paper back to Alex's outstretched hand without fighting. "Congrats!" Alex wasn't sure if the congratulation was ironic or sincere, so she settled for a tight smile.

" _Nine_ O.W.L.s?" Black repeated. "Blimey, just how many hours do you have to spend in the library to do that?"

"Too many," Potter replied, grinning. Mrs. Potter gave both of them her trademark stern look.

"Boys," she chastised, before turning to Alex with a warm smile. "But this is wonderful, Alex. Your mother would be so proud. She was one of the smartest witches in her year, you know."

The mention of her mother moved Alex more than the thought of Regulus, Henryk, and Black's snide remark put together and Alex blinked rapidly, trying to contain the sudden onset of tears that threatened to make its way through her eyes. She sniffled secretly before smiling at Mrs. Potter, who smiled back at her brightly. Potter, who had been observing the exchange with silent eyes, stood up from the table energetically and said,

"Who's ready for Quidditch?"

* * *

If Leila could best anyone with her collection of _Quidditch Today_ magazines then the Potters could best anyone with their collection of brooms.

Or at least that's how it seemed to Alex, who looked around the Potter shed with some awe. The shed was easily bigger than her living room (Alex wasn't even sure what to make of this comparison), and a whole half of the space was devoted to all things Quidditch—old brooms, older brooms (some of them even looked like they were from the seventeenth century, when the earliest brooms were invented), crates and crates of old Quaffles and Bludgers struggling against their chains, rows of bats and—

"Wow," Alex said involuntarily, looking around. Even she, who didn't care much for Quidditch, could tell that this was an impressive collection.

"I know," Potter said, bouncing between rows of brooms lined up chaotically against each other. "What's your favorite broom, Alex? Cleansweep's a safe choice, but I feel like Nimbus has more gravitas, you know?"

"Gravitas?" Alex repeated with some irony. Black snorted from the corner.

"You'll soon learn, Wilson," he drawled, "that James treats his brooms as if they were endowed with natural human dignity."

"This should work," Potter, apparently unaware of the chatter in the background, bubbled up excitedly amidst dust and mold. "Comet sixty-eight. Springy. Fast, but reliable. You're not small, but you're _that_ big, either." Potter's eyes gleamed in a mad way that reminded Alex forcefully of Mr. Ollivander, the wandmaker.

"Great," Alex said drily. "Where do we play?"

"Not so fast," Potter said, skipping out the shed. "We need to—stretch—warm up—get plenty of water—"

"This isn't a match against the Slytherins, Prongs," Black said lazily as he trudged after them, but Alex got a feeling from his smirk that this was, indeed, going to be an unfair game. "Take it easy."

"Easy? Take it easy?" Potter sounded horrified. "This is Quidditch! This is seriousness itself, Sirius."

"Pun intended?" Black drawled.

"Always!" Laughing, Potter mounted his broom and shot into the sky, becoming a small dot in the clear blue canvas within seconds. Alex squinted her eyes up in the air, trying to make out what Potter was doing. He was doing an odd sort of a gesture—

"See you later, Wilson," Black smiled nastily. "That is, if you make it out alive." With those words Black shot into the air and left Alex on the ground, gritting her teeth in annoyance.

It wasn't that she didn't know how to fly. In fact, she rather enjoyed the flying lessons during her First year. But that was more than four years ago, and Alex really hadn't many chances to practice flying. But she refused to be humiliated by these odious boys who decided to make fun of every single thing she did—the thought itself was not as dignified as she would've liked, but Alex told herself that beating them at their own game would give her some satisfaction.

Of course, she would have to temporarily forget that Potter had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team since his second year. And that Black towered over her by at least half a foot. Never mind that. She mounted the broom and pushed against the ground, feeling the distance between her feet and the grass grow larger and larger. Vertigo gripped her stomach and her grip on the handle tightened as Alex realized that she could fall from the height and easily break her neck.

"Alright there, Alex?" Potter asked, grinning.

"Fine," she croaked hoarsely. "Perfect. Just… wonderful."

"Here's the rule," Black began, no-nonsense. "Whoever has the Quaffle's it. The goal is to get from that tree—" Black pointed at one of the many trees at the edge— "to that tree." Another indeterminate tree. "The other two people try to stop him at any costs. Questions?"

The instinct for self-preservation in her asked, quite plainly, what "any costs" meant in terms of actual action—if it would include bruising and breaking, for instance. But Alex refused to lose face, so she nodded.

"Great!" Potter said, somehow managing to keep his bouncy frame on his broom. "Ready, set—go!" Without a warning he snatched the Quaffle from Black's hands and sprinted toward the other side of the field.

"Hey!" Black protested, but Alex was faster; leaning her frame against the wind, she directed her broom toward where Potter was, feeling the cool morning air rush against her face. It was an odd sensation—a kind of serenity despite the speed.

When she got close enough to Potter, Alex swerved sharply to the left, trying to push Potter off balance. But Potter, experienced as he was, saw it coming and merely lowered his altitude to avoid her.

"Is that the best you got, Alex?" Potter shouted, grinning from ear to ear. Alex shook her head and sped toward the other side of the field so that she could meet him head-on. Meanwhile, Black was trying to outflank him by approaching him from behind.

"Wilson!" Black shouted. "You take his left, I'll take his right."

"Smart move, shouting your plan!" Alex said, but she complied anyway, having thought of a similar thing just seconds before.

What followed was hard to describe; Alex felt something inside her, a second instinct, perhaps, propelling her toward certain directions that she only later understood as having certain functions. What she felt at the moment were gushes of wind against her face, a kind of exhilaration that only came when everything just clicked into place; when Potter turned left, Alex knew which direction she should take to block him the best; when Potter tried to feint, Alex knew which direction he wanted to go, too. How the small hints and signs registered in her brain, Alex couldn't tell; they were all split-second decisions that caught her attention—a tightening of his left ankle, for instance, or a twitch of Black's shoulder, followed by a frustrated cry.

"Score!" Black yelled in disbelief. "Wilson—you just—"

"Scored!" Potter said, looking at her with newfound appreciation that Alex found more alarming than casual disdain. "That was—excellent, Alex!" From the way he said it, Alex got a feeling that "excellent" was not a word Potter used often on the Quidditch field.

"Alright," Alex said awkwardly.

"You sure you never played Quidditch before?" Potter asked. "As a child, I mean, anything can really help."

"Pretty sure," Alex said, remembering her Muggle home town with nostalgia for the first time. She missed her mom… "I dunno. I think my parents used to play Quidditch at Hogwarts?" Slytherin Keeper and Ravenclaw Chaser to be more exact, but Potter and Black didn't need to know the details.

Potter nodded, as if that explained all that needed to be explained. Black, on the other hand, was looking more and more sour by the second.

"Let's go," he huffed. "And I want the Quaffle." And muttering something about beginner's luck, he flew toward the center of the field.

Potter gave her a look. "He's a sore loser," he mouthed.

"I heard that!"

* * *

Beginner's luck or not, Alex managed to score a few more goals that morning even though Black seemed lividly intent on preventing that from happening (to the point where Potter had to tell him off by saying, full of exasperation, "Padfood, _seriously_?"). After the match something seemed to have shifted for them—for Potter, at least, who became more and more civil to Alex to the point where they could have a whole conversation together without implying that Slytherins were snakes or that Gryffindors were a bunch of brainless brawns. Sirius had been less than happy with this new development, but he seemed to take Potter's decision on the matter to heart and attempted to tolerate Alex, at least when Potter was around.

"Alright," Mrs. Potter said bracingly one August afternoon. "All ready?" The Hogwarts letters had come a week before reminding students that they needed supplies, and Mrs. Potter suggested that getting supplies earlier would help them avoid the crowd that inevitably came with the beginning of the school year.

"Almost," Potter said, skipping down the stairs. The reason for skipping became clear when he appeared in front of Mrs. Potter, Black, and Alex; the lace of his left boot was intertwined his right boot, and vice versa, to the point where he couldn't take a step without dragging another foot with him.

"What happened, dear?" asked Mrs. Potter, but was stopped by Black who began to crack up ruthlessly.

"Potter, you idiot," Alex said, rolling her eyes, before realizing that the mother of the said idiot was nearby. "Sorry, Mrs. Potter," she mumbled. Mrs. Potter brushed the insult off.

"What were you thinking?" she asked her son instead, who finally realized the problem of his boots.

"Well—Padfoot said—" Potter grunted, struggling to untie his laces.

"Sure, because everything good begins with the words, 'Padfood said,'" Alex said.

"I told him it was a cool Muggle fashion," Black said, still chortling. "He was hoping to run into a certain Muggleborn, you see—"

"Don't call her that," Potter snapped automatically. "She's—"

"A lot smarter than you, obviously," Mrs. Potter said, flicking her wand at Potter's boots. The laces straightened themselves out in a matter of seconds and Potter stood up, looking a bit dazed.

"Okay, okay," he said. "I'm ready."

It was odd to see Diagon Alley when it wasn't overcrowded with students, and it was even stranger to see it without her mom at her side. Granted, the presence of two gangly teenage boys ensured that she didn't feel alone, but it was still odd to walk through the alley without having someone point everything out to her. Not that she needed every single thing explained like she did when she was eleven, but still…

"Mum, seriously," Potter was whining, again, to Mrs. Potter, who was trying to hide her sadness by acting sterner.

"No," Mrs. Potter said. "You're not old enough…"

"I'm turning seventeen this year!" Potter protested. "Honestly, I'm old enough to shop _school supplies_ by myself…"

"It's okay, Mrs. Potter," Sirius said in his trust-me-Professor-McGonagall voice, which never amounted to anything more than I'll-try-not-to-destroy-the-entire-castle voice. "I'll watch him."

"No," Mrs. Potter said. "But maybe Alex will!"

Alex felt a reluctant smile force itself her lips. "Me?" she asked.

"You're responsible," Mrs. Potter said.

"Yeah," Potter chimed in. "Super responsible. Prefect and all…" Black snorted.

"Okay," Alex said, still unsure exactly what she was agreeing to. Mrs. Potter beamed.

"Excellent," she said. "I was supposed to meat Dorea and Ilana at Daring Dashes, but you all can meet us there after you're done…" Trailing off ambiguously, Mrs. Potter smoothly disappeared into the alley.

"She's been planning this all along!" Black said in mock outrage.

"Yeah!" Potter followed immediately. "Let's go to Knockturn Alley!"

"Wait, what?" Alex said in confusion, but she had no time to react before the aforementioned two gangly teenage boys grabbed her by the elbow on either side of her and began to drag her toward a direction that Alex had never even set foot before.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait—" Alex repeated like a broken cuckoo clock.

"C'mon, Alex," Potter said bracingly.

"Yeah, Alex," Black said sarcastically. "Live once in a while."

"Um," Alex said, "couldn't we live in a brighter part of the alley? I heard that Fortescue's Ice Cream has excellent sunlight to live in. I mean—" Her words were stopped by Black, who suddenly halted in the middle of the street and stared into the dark side alley with intensity that threw Alex off. Potter, who didn't notice his friend's behavior, kept pulling Alex and stumbled backward as a result.

"What?" Potter said in genuine confusion. Black's eyes narrowed.

"Look," he said quietly. Both of them squinted at the alley.

A couple of figures, half a dozen at most, huddled in front of Borgin and Burke's, looking rather out of place in a summer afternoon. They were all cloaked in a dark shade with their hoods drawn up, and they seemed to be whispering amongst each other; whispering what, Alex couldn't tell.

As they watched, a new figure approached the group from other side of the street. Unlike the others, this one held up his head high, and his wizarding cloak, as the expensive fabric swished under his knees, was open and unhooded.

Alex's grip on her wand (she didn't realize that her hand had reached out to her pocket) tightened.

"Isn't that Regulus Black?" Potter voiced aloud her own thoughts. Sirius' mouth set in a grim line.

"Yeah," he growled. "What's that git doing there?" He shot Alex an accusatory look, as if she should know what his little brother was doing in front of Borgin and Burke's. Alex wondered how Regulus would have enough time to hang out on Diagon Alley but not have enough time to drop her a single line of letter—the line of thought didn't invite a particularly welcoming set of thoughts—but she remembered that Black didn't know about her and Reg's—ah, special relationship.

"No idea," Alex murmured. "But this can't be good news, we should get out of here."

"Get out of here?" Potter repeated incredulously. "What, this is the biggest thing we've seen all summer!"

"And dangerous," Alex added.

"Oh, look at that, a coward Slytherin," Black sneered. "How novel."

"And a reckless Gryffindor's such a hard find," Alex shot back. Potter shushed both of them.

"They're going in," he whispered, even though they were a good hundred feet away from them.

"We should go after them," Black whispered back.

"To what end?" Alex said in frustration. "Just walk into the store and ask for the nastiest artifact they have?"

"We'll figure something out," Black argued.

"Yes, that's a fine plan," Alex said. "Just spotted a couple of fishy-looking blokes, so go into Borgin and Burke's and say hello, just dropping in to see some fine new artifacts, have you got any club soda?"

"And what might you young fellows be doing, getting club soda?" an unsettlingly familiar voice said from behind them, making the teenagers jump in their places. "Just kidding, you're too old for sodas, though, aren't you?"

The smiling face of Altair Wymond managed to unsettle Alex to the point she temporarily forgot seeing her boyfriend walk into Borgin and Burke's.

"Dad!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Dad?" Potter repeated in confusion.

"Dad?" Black repeated suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. "You mean _your_ dad?"

"Well, I certainly don't remember having a son," Altair said easily. "How have you been, Alex?"

Alex opened her mouth to respond, but something stopped her from saying fine—partly because she wasn't fine, as far as she knew—the entire summer had been a tense succession of days into nights, worrying constantly about her mom, about her future, about everything that was supposed to come to pass but she could never tell when—but as she looked at her father's face, she felt that something was off. He was—as pale as he'd been the first time they met about a year ago—strained. The wrinkles around his eyes were strained, as if it took effort for him to smile.

She found herself giving the conventional answer. "I'm fine. How are you?" Then she remembered where she was. "What are you doing here?"

Altair shrugged. "Running errands," he answered casually. "Who are your friends?"

"We're not her friends," Black grumbled. Simultaneously, Potter burst out, "hello, James Potter, sir—it's such a pleasure—" shaking her father's hand so vigorously that Alex thought Potter wanted to steal his hand.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Altair said, sounding as though he had already heard so much about him when Alex had never talked to her father about her—friends. "The troublemaker."

"Marauder, actually," James corrected him without a hint of self-consciousness, beaming. "I actually wanted to ask you, sir, if you don't mind, what it was like to work for the Order?"

Alex started at James' words. His father, work for the Order? —no. But what was more astonishing was Altair's reaction, the way his whole face froze without any reassurance of thawing.

"What?" Alex said, her voice sounding rather faraway.

"What?" Potter said.

"What?" Black, who appeared less excited to see her father, seemed to catch on first. "Oh," he said. "No, no, we heard that Alex's parent was involved in the Order, and Prongs here just assumed that it was your dad—"

"No," Alex said, her voice still faraway. "No, I don't know what my father does." She turned to Altair. "What do you do for a living, by the way?"

Altair had regained his original cheerfulness. "Nothing special," he said. "So. Sophia has joined the Order, has she?" There was an undercurrent emotion beneath those words that Alex couldn't identify. The tenseness of his eyes struck her once again.

"You know what the Order is?" James inquired with alarm. Altair shrugged.

"In my line of work, it would be hard to miss." The smile in his eyes grew ironic. Taunting. An awkward silence passed. Alex scratched the back of her neck.

"Well," her father finally said. "I should get going."

"You don't have to," Alex said automatically. "I mean—"

"I'm afraid that I really was on an errand," Altair replied gently but firmly. "And they'll notice that I'm gone. School starts soon, though, doesn't it?"

Alex nodded quietly.

"Good luck," her father said, clasping her on her shoulder. "To all of you." Nodding at Potter and Black, his father broke into a jog toward the Knockturn Alley that they had been spying on moments ago. The group of cloaked figures was gone. Alex frowned, trying to will the hallow feeling in her chest to disappear.

"Potter, how did you know about my mum?" she asked in a strained voice.

"Huh?" Potter said intelligently.

"Mrs. Potter told us some things about your parent… your mum," Black spoke up, sounding non-aggressive for the first time. "She said that your mum was involved in some mission for the Order and that… well, that we should be nicer to you."

Alex swallowed. "Okay," she said eventually.

Potter understood her tone the wrong way. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed. "We'll never tell anyone, we swear, we know how important it is to keep things like this secret, and, you know, we would never want to put your mum in danger."

"Says the person who blurted the secret out to her father," Black said. "It looked like your dad didn't know about it, though, aren't your parents talking to each other anymore?"

"I don't know," Alex mumbled darkly, staring at her shadow on the cobblestone. It looked like some sort of monster… "C'mon, we need to get our textbooks, or else your mum's going to keep me from having desert."

The trio set off to Flourish and Bolts.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to thank RobynJerri21 for the message and encouragement, it really helped me crawl out of my bed and write again (and yes, I will try to update soon! :)

Also, do you hear the sound? The ticking of the time bomb? Book I is rapidly approaching its end and the inevitable explosion! Let us hope that I manage to finish the book before the month is over (huzzah!).


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Hello all! I didn't realize until I logged into the FFN that it's been more than three months... I'm sorry for the wait! For those who are still following the story, it's just been a completely chaotic semester (yes, I'm a student-and, for the first time, a bit exhausted from studying). This is just a small chapter; I didn't realize until I got into about eleven pages of Word document that I would have to split the chapter. But that means that the next one is coming soon!

A recap because it's been so long: Alex's mom is on an Order mission, but presumably missing; Alex consequently spent the summer at Potters, building an unlikely friendship with James. The last chapter ended with them catching Regulus and the gang at Knockturn Alley, but the trio are interrupted when Alex's father appears out of nowhere. So many devices coming out of nowhere...

* * *

It was the most sun-lit summer Alex ever spent. The Potter residence was removed from all presence, Muggle or magical, and all there was to do was to read in the library, play Quidditch in the nearby field, or, in Black's case, fix up the motorbike from which he parted reluctantly on September 11th, when the entire family flooed to the floo station nearest to King's Cross in London (Alex didn't know that people could do that).

"Eat three square meals a day… Drink lots of water…" Mrs. Potter said, tearfully kissing her son's cheeks. James looked slightly abashed to receive his mother's love for the first time, looking around the station uneasily. Black rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, Mum, you know I will," protested James.

" _Balanced_ meals," Mrs. Potter, Black, and Mr. Potter said simultaneously, all familiar with the routine. They burst out laughing.

Alex watched the entire exchange with a small smile. Living with a family like the Potters—it was an entirely new experience. She didn't know what it was like to have a whole family under one roof—it was always between her mother and her—that cared for each other, and watching Mr. and Mrs. Potter interact with each other and their son made her wonder if every family was so full of affection and trust. She sometimes caught Black watching them wistfully as well, and knew that his experience with was as different from James' as hers—or Regulus', really. The little brother that no one mentioned.

"You'll take care, won't you, Alex?" Mrs. Potter said to her with warmth that still threw her off and made her uncomfortable.

"Yeah, yeah, I will," she said, awkwardly returning the old woman's hug. "Be careful. With everything, I mean." Mr. Potter patted her on the back.

"Bye!" Sirius shouted as they boarded the train.

"See you in a few months!"

"Stay out of trouble, and—"

" _Honestly_ , Mum!" James' embarrassed protest left them all laughing, but Alex saw Mrs. Potter lean against her husband, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. She didn't know how to make them feel better…

Ahead of her Black turned toward her, about to say something.

"Alex! Thank Merlin," Leila entered the hallway frantically, her eyes wild. "How was your summer? Great? With the Potters, it couldn't have been that great. No offense, Potter, I was talking more about Black. Anyways. I need to talk to you. Let's go inside." All of this was said without a single response from anyone else.

"Hi Leila," Alex said drily.

"Parkinson," Black said contemptuously before entering an empty compartment. James grinned at her and clasped her shoulder.

"See you around, Alex. Parkinson," with a stiff acknowledgement (Alex supposed that Quidditch gave Leila and James a common ground) he entered the compartment as well.

"Well, well," Parkinson said. "Good that you and Potter are talking. I need insight into the Gryffindor team strategy and he wouldn't talk to me in the past."

"Good to see you too," Alex said, feeling the train lurch into motion. "I need to go to the prefect's carriage soon."

"Fine," Leila said, dragging her suitcase into the compartment. "But we're talking afterwards."

"We're not sitting in the Slytherin carriage?" Alex asked. Leila paused, a wild look in her face.

"Um, no, not today," she said, uncharacteristically hesitant. Alex frowned.

"Wouldn't that be, you know, too suspicious?"

"I don't really care what that lot thinks anymore, to be honest," Leila said. "Especially if it means that I don't have to see Rebecca Goyle's sorry face again." Leila was searching her face for some sign of—recognition, it seemed.

"What's going on?" Alex asked impatiently. Leila groaned in frustration.

"You and Regulus haven't, you know, broken up, have you?" she said after a while. Alex felt her eyebrows soar up her forehead.

"What?"

"I meant, like, really break up, not just—fake break up."

"Not that I know of," Alex said slowly.

"Oh, well, then, it's probably nothing," Leila said lightly.

Alex raised her eyebrows even higher. "Leila, _what is it_?"

"I don't know what it even is anymore!" Leila shouted. "How should I know? That wasn't even on my mind ten minutes ago, if you're interested. I'm engaged!"

" _What_?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Engaged," Leila enunciated each syllable slowly. "Yeah, it sort of—just happened."

"How do you just sort of happen to get engaged?"

"Don't you have to go to the prefect's meeting, or something?" Leila said, not looking particularly eager to talk about the subject.

"You didn't say a word about this in your letters!"

"Well it happened two days ago, so how could I?" Leila said. "It was—just completely unexpected, you know?"

"No kidding," Alex said.

"You know how I spent most of the summer in Germany with my relatives—I mean, it was mostly boring, but there was another family in the neighborhood, Pureblood and pedigreed and all, and my parents were pretty eager to set me up with the eldest son in the family even before we went there, so I figured nothing would come out of it."

"But it did," Alex said.

Leila shrugged. "I mean—yeah, Fred's kinda nice."

"Fred?" Alex said. "You're marrying a bloke named _Fred_?"

"Friedrich! His name's Friedrich!" Leila's cheeks were beginning to turn cherry pink. Alex began to crack up despite the earlier remark about Regulus.

"I don't think that's necessarily better!" she said, trying not to look too entertained at her friend's behalf. Leila tried to scowl, but there was a reluctant smile making its way up to her face.

"Shut up," she said.

"Well, I can't now," Alex said. "Tell me about this _Fred_." Leila shook her head.

"He's just—a really decent person, really." All note of sarcasm dropped from her voice and Leila, for the first time since Alex had known her, sounded completely genuine. "Just—really upfront about everything, and honest, and smart, and he doesn't really want to play games or anything, he just likes to be by himself, and—well, he reminds me a bit of Lee, really."

"Henryk?" Alex said, surprised at the comparison.

"I mean—he was always there for you, wasn't he?" Something in the meaningful look Leila was giving her made Alex want to hide somewhere, even though Alex didn't know why.

"I suppose," she mumbled.

"Anyway, we spent a lot of time together over the summer, talking about things—nothing serious, or at least that's what I thought, anyway. But I guess he liked me more than I thought he did, and he asked our parents for permission about a few days before I had to leave for Hogwarts and—he asked me if I wanted to marry him after Hogwarts. And I said I did."

"Do you?" Alex asked, puzzled. As far as she knew, Leila wanted a career related to Quidditch—two things that pureblood witches did not care to associate themselves with—and if Fred was approved by her parents—

"I know what you're thinking," Leila sighed, sinking back into her chair. "He said that he knew we would be getting married pretty early—I mean, it's not that early for most pureblood families, but anyway—and that if I had some things that I wanted to figure out, then it would be fine if we waited a bit to have kids and stuff. But he didn't think that was a reason for us to postpone getting married, or anything—he thinks we'll be a good fit, apparently."

"Do you?" Alex asked again. Leila shrugged.

"I think he's dependable," she said. "And he respects me. He's from a good family and I know he'll be kind to me. I'll try to pay him the same courtesy. We like each other enough."

"And that's enough?"

Leila shrugged again. "Maybe it's not the heartwrenching romance you and Black share," she said. "But I think long term, yeah, it should be more than enough."

Alex considered. "Reg and I don't share a heartwrenching romance," she said.

"Sure, sure," Leila said. "That's why you keep your relationship a secret from everyone else… Anyway, don't you have to go to the prefect's carriage, or something?"

The news of Leila's engagement distracted Alex enough to keep her being chastised from the dirty look that the head boy and girl gave her for arriving late. They were all—sixteen. Turning seventeen. Alex supposed that even in Muggle communities, girls who didn't have a professional life planned married pretty early, and wizards turned adults at seventeen. But even then, to be able to trust someone enough to make a commitment like that—meant that Leila must have seen something in her fiancé to say yes. The ugly doubt reared its head and asked if Regulus had ever asked—but didn't he imply, more than two seasons ago, that he did want to think about building a life together with her? Saying all sorts of things, like two years weren't that long, and that his parents would eventually come around, and—and if he really wanted all that with her, how was she supposed to explain the lack of letters this summer? Not one word from him, even though, judging from his presence in Knockturn Alley, he was doing perfectly well.

"Wilson!" The shout brought her out of her reverie. Several prefects were attempting half-heartedly to muffle their snicker. Alex looked up, dazed.

"Yes, Claremont?" she said to the head boy.

"Seeing as you were so late for the meeting, you can take the first patrol," Claremont said with a nasty smile. Alex sunk back into her seat.

"If you insist," she said sullenly. Claremont turned around and began to talk about the procedure after the welcome feast. Alex tried to listen, but her thoughts kept going back to Reg and how he wasn't in the carriage, even though he was never the one to eschew his prefect duties. And Leila was anxious for her not to go into the Slytherin carriage, asking if they'd broken up for good.

"Alright, you lot, you're all dismissed," Claremont said after what felt like an interminable drawl. Alex stood up quickly and stumbled into the corridor, feeling a stomach-turning sense of foreboding. What was Reg up to?

After confiscating several Fanged Frisbees and disarming a case of Dungbomb explosion near the Hufflepuff car (the third-year Gryffindors were eager to impress the Marauders), Alex got the answer to the question.

The Slytherin carriage was louder than usual when she entered, and at the source of the noise came the strong smell of elderflower mead, smoke from exploding snap, and the excited voices of sixth and seventh year Slytherins.

"Hello, Black," her voice sounded unlike hers, so strange and calm. "Care to explain why you weren't at the prefect meeting?"

Regulus vaguely extricated himself from the lap of Rebecca Goyle, looking a little smashed. "Wilson," he said, his voice thick. "Long time no see." Next to him Rebecca giggled and began to play with a strand of his hair. Alex resisted the urge to smash their heads together. Was _this_ what they'd been up to for the past summer?

"Prefect meeting. You were absent. Explain," Alex snapped, keeping her sentences short. She couldn't openly lose her temper, no one was supposed to know about their relationship, she had no right to...

"Merlin, take it easy, Alex, won't you?" Rebecca whined loudly. "It's not like everyone has to be a stuck-up bitch like you." Several male classmates around her chortled drunkenly. Regulus remained quiet, looking down at his robes with something that resembled consciousness. A surge of rage sprouted from the pit of her stomach. That was how he was going to play this, then, was it?

"Have it your way, then," Alex said. "Twenty points off Slytherin."

"Shut up, Wilson!" Avery groaned. "Like we'll ever listen to—"

" _Each_ ," Alex added, voice artificially saccharine. "That's what—a hundred and eighty points in total?"

"It's your own bloody house!" Mulciber protested.

"And it's your bloody rules!" Alex shouted, feeling the rage get the better of her. "You've known them since first year! If you can't set a decent example, then do all of us a favour and don't flaunt your ego in public!"

"Bloody hell, Wilson," Avery swore. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Alright, that's enough," Regulus said, finally speaking up. He sounded a little less drunk than he did previously. "Wilson, do you want to take this outside?"

"Why not, _Black_ ," Alex spat out. He stood up unsteadily and hobbled outside the car.

"We're outside, so talk," Alex said forcefully.

"Empty compartment," Regulus muttered. "Strangelyhardtofind."

"You're drunk," Alex stated.

"A bit," Regulus admitted without trying to deny it. Alex couldn't tell if this honesty made her feel better or worse.

"Because—"

"Because I feel like shit," Regulus said, opening a compartment door. He gestured her in, bowing grandly. "My lady."

"This isn't funny," Alex said, hating that she suddenly had to bite back tears. Regulus straightened.

"No," he said somberly. "No, it's not. But—please do come in." Against her better judgement she complied.

"You didn't write all sum—" Alex began, but was cut off as Regulus closed the door and, closing the distance between them, quite directly placed his lips on hers. Hard. She pushed him away.

" _What are you doing_?" she shouted shrilly. Regulus seemed a little dazed.

"I missed you," he said quietly.

"You missed me?" Alex repeated. "You _missed_ me? That's why you didn't write a word all summer?"

"Shite thing to do," Regulus mumbled. Alex felt the fumes coming out from her ears.

" _You think_?"

"I can explain," Regulus said.

"I'd like to see you try," Alex said, crossing her arms. Regulus sat down on one side of the compartment, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"I couldn't think of a word to say to you," he mumbled eventually.

"You couldn't think of a word to say to me," Alex repeated.

"I—tried. Really. Every single day. Trying to ask you how you were doing and—everything else. How the Potters were treating you. If Sirius wasn't bullying you. How your O.W.L.s turned out. I really did. I just—couldn't. I felt like I would have been lying to you if I did, and I—" Regulus looked at her fully in the face for the first time since they began to talk. "I'm sorry. I really am. It's just that things have been going on, and—"

"What things?" Alex asked, unsure if she wanted to really know. She didn't know if she could trust what Regulus was saying—hadn't he made excuses before? Hadn't she forgiven him for his mistakes too easily before?

Regulus' head sunk. "I'm not at liberty to say," he said quietly. Alex suppressed the impulse to stomp her feet and shout at Regulus' face.

"That's not good enough," she said instead.

"Alex—"

"You haven't written a word all summer—"

"I told you, I tried every single day—"

"That doesn't change the fact that you didn't!" It seemed that she failed to suppress the impulse to shout. "And then I find you skipping out on prefect duties—"

"It's not like you particularly like them anyway—"

"But Regulus Black I know would never skip his duties," Alex shot back. Something in her words made him shrink in his seat.

"And then I find you drunk on Rebecca Goyle's lap, and she's acting like you've been there all summer. So tell me what could possibly justify any of this, because I swear to god—"

"I joined the Death Eaters!"

For a second there was absolute, horrible silence. Alex swallowed. Blinked. Tried to wrap her head around the syllables that just came out of her best friend's mouth. Because it sounded as though he had just said—

"I joined the Death Eaters," Regulus repeated, searching desperately into her eyes. "Alex? I joined the Death Eaters. I didn't know how to tell you. Alex. Alex? Please look at me."

"I don't know how." Her voice sounded strange. Hollow. But why would her voice feel hollow? It felt like she was dealing with the news incredibly well. Whatever well meant—

"I joined the week after we home from Hogwarts," Regulus went on, still trying to get her to look at him. "It was—I knew about it, but I thought I wouldn't think about it until after the O.W.L.s, but by then it was already too close, and I didn't know how to tell you before the summer, and after that I just—and—there are just too many things that I didn't tell you, and I—please look at me."

"Reg," Alex said. "I still don't understand what's going on between you and Rebecca."

Regulus looked away. "Nothing happened," he said.

"She seems to think otherwise."

"Nothing like you and me," Regulus said.

"What are we, by the way? I'm just not clear at the moment, because it sounds like you made several big decisions without once talking to me about it—"

"They weren't your business—"

"You're the one who said that you wanted to envision a life together!" Alex yelled. "You're the one who said you wanted to—make a promise of a promise of a proposal—"

"That was in fourth year—"

"So things have changed, then, have they?"

"Yes!" Regulus shouted, frustrated. "Yes, things have changed, because I'm the heir to the Black family, and a Death Eater, and you're—" Regulus stopped abruptly, looking guilty. Alex's eyes narrowed to slits.

"What?" she asked. "What am I, Reg?"

"You're the only friend I had," he said.

"And?"

"You're the only girl I want." The hopeless look in his eyes made her want to claw his eyes out, but she couldn't.

"But—"

"But I don't know if you'll have me anymore," Regulus said. "Will you? Tell me that we can still be together, Alex, tell me—"

"Getting drunk and toying other girls—"

"I told you, nothing happened—"

"Just trying to keep everything to yourself—"

"I didn't know how to tell you—"

"Exactly what am I supposed to say to that, Reg?" Alex shouted. "That you're forgiven? What, you get a free pass because you're a Death Eater, and I'm just supposed to watch idly as you—go out to hunt Muggles and snog different girls—"

"I DON'T WHAT ANY OF THAT!"

The wild, livid look in Regulus' eyes made Alex take a few steps back in genuine fright. The sight of her walking away from him seemed to bring Regulus back to his old self.

"Alex," he murmured, taking her hands in his. Alex tried to shake him off, but she couldn't. She missed him. She wanted—she wanted to make things better. Make everything better so that Regulus was smiling and she was smiling and they were both happy. Strange, how at that moment she should want him more than she did ever before…

"I'm sorry," he whispered, drawing her close, enclosing her in his embrace, clinging to her heart with all his might. And she didn't have the strength to shake him off.

"I know," Alex said, trying to stop herself from crying again. The image of her mother and the little house she grew up in flashed before her eyes. Her mother, who'd been unofficially missing for the past six months. She was right all along, wasn't she—Regulus was never going to bring good news.

"Forgive me?" Regulus said, pressing his lips on her hands, her lips, her face—"Forgive me, Alex? Please—I need you." His eyes were desperately wide. "I need you." Their lips met. Alex closed her eyes, willing the darkness to blind her however temporarily.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Thank you to all those who got back to me (and to gr8rockstarrox: congratulations! You are the 100th reviewer!)-it was lovely to hear from you! Anyway, the penultimate chapter of Book I...

* * *

Sometimes it felt like he was falling down an endless dark hole.

Freefalling would be pleasant, he mused, but it was more of a knock-all-the-air-out-your-lungs kind of a fall, in which he had absolutely no control over the speed of falling, nor how he was going to land, nor what he would find once he landed. Most likely, his fall would result in a pile of bones and bloody mess. He would deserve that. He really would.

Alex didn't smile anymore, and he didn't know what he could do about it.

It was easier during the summer, when he didn't actually have to face her every day. His parents were pleased that their son had taken the habit of spending more and more time with the peers his age. He did it mostly for drinking (alcohol was excellent distraction, Regulus found to his disgust, and drinking by oneself was a surprisingly unpleasant experience) and, for some reason, his body seemed intent on adding to his self-hatred by making more and more mistakes despite his brain shouting at the top of its lungs—Rebecca Goyle, for instance. Somewhere in his more lucid part of his brain he'd found the resolve to push her off of him when she came for a snog, but somehow maintaining the ambiguous relationship with her fed the burning sensation of his self-loathing, fueling him. Some other stupid things involving a few antiques in his house. Kreacher scolded him for _minutes_ the next morning, telling him that he should uphold the standards of the Black household. His cheeky reply that Black household standards included incest and domestic abuse didn't fly very well.

And Sirius was supposed to be the rebellious one.

Regulus shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing, tuning out all other noises around him. He couldn't. The chortling around him from other Slytherin sixth-years were too distracting. It felt like his head was trying to split open.

The headache had grown worse since the beginning of the semester. It was "benign" during the summer, and, as the Black family had a history of migraines (due to many factors, Regulus had no doubt, that included inbreeding and paranoia about their relatives trying to steal from them), Regulus dismissed the symptoms as consequences of lack of rest and drinking. But six weeks into the school year, they were just below screaming painful—and it seemed as though he was surviving on coffee and pain relief potions.

Alex knew something was wrong, of course. They couldn't spend a lot of time together, with his Quidditch practices and the "corridor meetings" that grew more and more frequent as the semester went on and he was expected to fill the leadership position left vacant by the seventh-years who graduated. But every stolen moment they snatched from life and obligations she looked at him worriedly, caressing his cheeks, laying comforting kisses on his forehead, as if _he_ was the one who was being wronged. Even though she knew that he was a Death Eater and—his mother was in the Order. Imprisoned in his house, in fact, although she didn't know _this_ exactly. Nor that he went on missions during the summer to old English villages, causing mayhem—even though he didn't have it in him to kill. So he caused houses and bridges to collapse, never mind the screams coming from the inside…

A sharp pain vibrated through his skull and Regulus clenched his fists, swallowing a whimper. There were still so many things that Alex didn't know, so many things that he didn't tell her because he couldn't bear to lose her, but what could he do? If he told her the truth about everything, he feared that she would never agree to be with him—she loved her mother too much, would never side with him on this matter. He would lose her, the only source of warmth and comfort he had in his life.

She was currently going over the notes from the last lectures a few rows in front of him, while Parkinson sat next to her, doodling in her Quidditch magazine. She looked a little pale, Regulus noted with concern, and she seemed a little thinner—the profile of her in the sunlight betrayed the stress that she was under. The stress that he put her under.

The class began to quiet down and Regulus glumly "looked up" from his textbook, pretending to pay attention to the new DADA professor who just walked in.

Petrovsky was an odd character, even by the previous DADA professor standards. He couldn't have been significantly older than Slughorn (who could barely manage to walk, let alone run), but Petrovsky moved as though he was not a day over thirty. Something about the hawklike gaze of his sharp, blue eyes told his students that, like MacGonagall, he didn't have the patience for nonsense, but Regulus couldn't tell if he, like MacGonagall, possessed hidden affection and attention for his students—rather, judging by the cool gaze coming toward his direction, Regulus judged that Petrovsky felt no warmth toward the youngest Black heir.

But this dislike from Petrovsky might have meant nothing, had it not been for the fact that Regulus had caught him looking at Alex on multiple occasions, staring intently, as if trying to discover something about her that he could use.

Alex, as usual, appeared oblivious to the attention (she had some silly idea that no one really took notice of her because she wasn't worth the attention) and was engrossed in writing down Petrovksy's lecture on non-verbal spells. Regulus looked back at his own jumbled set of notes and set his quill to his parchment. Perhaps it was better that Alex had no idea…

"Good, Miss Evans," Petrovsky complimented the Gryffindor prefect. "Ten points."

The other half of the class was supposed to be spent in practicing nonverbal spells, which Regulus might have enjoyed, had he not been suffering from the constant headache. His partner, Snape, was less than impressed.

"I'm waiting, Black," he drawled. Regulus scowled.

"We're both waiting, Snape," he drawled back. On the opposite side of the room something crashed. Everyone's gaze gravitated toward the direction of the noise.

"Sorry!" Alex's voice came. "I misdirected my wand." Several students sniggered.

"Let's see it again, Miss Wilson," Petrovsky said. Alex smiled sheepishly.

"I don't know if I can manage it again," she said, but she redirected her wand at Parkinson and, with a look of concentration, waved her wand. Parkinson raised her eyebrows laconically and then—began to miraculously tap-dance (from many balls Regulus knew for a fact that Parkinson was one partner to avoid if the dancer wished to keep his feet intact).

"Very good," Petrovsky said, nodding approvingly. Ah yes, another thing odd about Petrovsky—not only did he pay an inordinate amount of attention to Alex, she seemed to be the only object of his… fondness, as well. Creepy. "Twenty points to Slytherin." Alex smiled shyly and Parkinson rolled her eyes at her friend's teacher-pleasing mode. Regulus grit his teeth. He was supposed to be there with her, not Parkinson or anyone else.

"Get back to practice," Petrovsky barked at the entire class. Regulus turned back to Snape, going over the message he'd received from Malfoy just that morning. His next mission was in less than two days...

* * *

"It was nothing, really," Alex said a few days after. After the patrols, Regulus convinced her that the seventh floor might have missed them during the last few weeks—after all, what was the purpose of the Room of Requirements if there weren't any requirements? She was curled up next to him by the fireside, both lounging on the pile of cushions on the floor. The orange glow from the fire made her skin glow like ripening fruit. She smiled at him—tiredly, he could see. But he didn't say anything about it, knowing that he was the cause behind her tiredness.

"No one else could do it in the first try," Regulus murmured, kissing her mouth before she could answer. Alex snuggled into the crook between his neck and his shoulder, sighing. They sat in dead silence for a while, listening to each other's breaths.

"Hey, Reg?" Alex said.

"Hmm?"

"Can I see it?"

Regulus stiffened, but decided to play dumb. "See what?" Alex didn't answer for a while.

"The mark," she pronounced finally, sounding powerless. Regulus turned to look at her, but ser face was buried in his shoulder.

"You didn't ask that before," he commented.

"I didn't ask anything," Alex muttered. "I don't really believe it now, to be honest."

Regulus didn't know how to tell her that _he_ didn't quite believe the mark, either, until he heard the screams of Muggles behind his ears as he ran away from Death Eaters burning a Muggle village to the ground and he felt bile going up his esophagus against his will. So he extended his left arm and pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing a dark tattoo. Even though the dark snake had remained dormant for the past few days. Regulus could only too vividly imagine the reptile slithering out of the skull's mouth. Tentative, Alex reached out and traced the outline of the tattoo with her fingers. Regulus swallowed.

"Can you feel anything?" Alex asked, still not looking directly at him. Regulus shook his head.

"It's medically a giant scar, I think," he said. "Yeah, you can feel the—you can feel it when you're being summoned, and I can tell if pressure's being put onto it, but other than that, not really." Alex nodded, looking thoughtfully at the scar.

"Thoughts?" Regulus asked, trying to keep his voice light. Alex slowly curled up into a ball.

"It's uglier than I thought."

Regulus laughed it away feebly. "It's not about being pretty."

"I don't like it." Her eyes met his stubbornly for the first time.

Regulus didn't know whether he was angry or relieved. "Alex," he said.

"I wish you'd told me before it happened," she continued petulantly.

"I couldn't. The identity of the Death Eaters is supposed to be kept secret."

Alex glared at him. "Like everyone in our house doesn't already know."

Regulus had to cede that she had a point. "I didn't think you'd like it."

"Well, I don't," she declared. "But—that doesn't mean I like the thought of you having gone through that alone." Regulus' arm tightened around her automatically at her words.

"I don't deserve you," he murmured into her hair. Alex didn't say anything, just kissing the crook of his neck again. He returned the gesture by soundly kissing her lips until both were gasping for breath on the floor. The heat of the fire felt especially close to his skin, and Regulus realized that his robe had come off—he couldn't remember when. His forehead was slick with seat, and the weight of his torso strained his arms that tried to support it. Alex was panting beneath him, her arms snaked around his neck. Their eyes met, and something in her face fell.

"Reg," she said. "Is there a way out of this for both of us?" Regulus wanted to look away from her face, but he couldn't.

"I don't know." And that might be the only honest sentence he'd uttered in the past three months.

* * *

Few weeks later came the trip to Hogsmeade.

He hadn't planned on going—he'd even faked having too many assignments to the Slytherins, pretending to be swamped with work and that "he'd not used his time wisely." Excuse using sloppiness would've worked better for Avery or Rosier, Regulus supposed, but he couldn't think of a way to get out of an outing with the Slytherins whom he couldn't stand. And if Alex came back from her meeting with Parkinson's fiancé early, then they might even have a chance to spend some time together before the public dinner. But that morning he woke from a searing pain on his left wrist and he woke up, hissing, before he even gained consciousness of his wakefulness. He looked around. Everyone else had gone—he'd slept in. Odd. Didn't happen often.

Slipping on his robe uneasily, he headed toward the common room, where Lestrange was already waiting for him (he was branded last summer as well).

"Lestrange," Regulus acknowledged stiffly. Just because they were on the same side didn't mean that he particularly liked him, especially considering his interest in Alex during fourth-year. Lestrange, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten the whole debacle since then.

"Regulus," Lestrange said easily.

"Message?" he whispered, even though the common room was empty except for the first and second years. Lestrange unrolled a piece of parchment that he'd been given for his missions in order to prevent detection from Hogwarts security—the ink would appear on parchment whenever a scribe from the other side wrote on the twin parchment. Regulus wasn't sure whose idea it was to entrust it to Lestrange, but so it was.

"There's going to be a session in Hogsmeade," Lestrange said, sounding a bit bored. "Training for the new recruits. Show them how it's done old-style."

Regulus tried not to let his distaste for the "session" show—he knew how his brother would call it. Terrorizing. "Stay out of the way?" he asked instead.

Lestrange chuckled. "If you're _that_ tired. I figured I'd join it myself. Stretch out my legs a bit. Who knows." The glint in Lestrange's eyes grew brighter. "It might even be fun."

"Might stay in the castle," Regulus said. "Doesn't sound that important, anyhow."

Lestrange shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said. "But there's the second message." He looked at Regulus expectantly, as if he expected Regulus to know it. Regulus merely raised his eyebrows.

"Yes?" he drawled in his pureblood tone.

"A prisoner escaped from Grimmauld Place, if you'd believe it," Lestrange said. "The Dark Lord is, of course, highly displeased. Anyway, we're to take care of it."

Regulus felt his insides freeze. "Who?"

"Dunno," Lestrange said. "Got a description, though. Female. Mid-thirties, brown hair, tall."

"That's not very helpful," Regulus managed to croak. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

"Maybe," said Lestrange. "Think it's supposed to be vague, actually. Anyway, the new recruits are supposed to look for her as well."

Regulus frowned. "I thought they were coming here," he said.

"Yeah," Lestrange said.

"So they just guessed that the—the prisoner would be in Hogsmeade?"

Lestrange shrugged. "Apparently, they have a hunch that she'd be heading for Hogsmeade. No idea why. Maybe she's trying to contact Dumbledore, or something. Won't be the first time."

Regulus nodded. "Yes," he said, his mind racing a million miles even though he felt glued to his seat. "Certainly not the first time."

There was one female prisoner under the Grimmauld place—Sophia Wilson. Mid-thirties. Brown hair. Tall. She'd somehow outsmarted the wards around his house and escaped. Without a wand, presumably. Headed toward Hogsmeade.

Regulus felt the headache return with vicious fervor. They hadn't arranged a session for the new recruits. They'd arranged a hunt for the escaped prisoner. And if some of the Death Eaters decided to have fun in the process—well, that was fine for them, as well. He checked his watch. It was already almost noon. So many of the students would already be there…

Alex.

"Still staying in the castle?" Lestrange asked as Regulus abruptly rose from his seat.

"No," he said. "Prefect duties. I forgot."

Lestrange frowned. "Prefect duties?"

Regulus felt his face empty itself. "Better go there and make sure that pureblood children don't get caught in the crossfire," he toned monotonously, wondering what exactly it was that he planned to do once he got to Hogsmeade.

He didn't know.

* * *

"Don't," Leila hissed. Alex raised her eyebrows.

"What?" she asked leisurely.

"Don't laugh," Leila said, her ears turning red. "I know you were about to."

"Would never dream of it," Alex replied, glancing behind her toward the bar. "Why would I? He's getting us drinks."

Leila's scowl grew deeper. "I knew that this was a bad idea," she muttered. Alex couldn't help it—she laughed.

"No, I think it was nice of him to come and visit you on Hogsmeade weekend," she said. "He actually wants to spend time with you, doesn't he?" The words she uttered instantly sobered her up as Alex remembered a certain boy who didn't spend much time with her. Leila fortunately didn't seem to notice her change in mood.

"Bloody perfect, that's what he is," Leila swore. "And—you know what he did?"

"What, did he get you a present, or something?" Alex asked, mockingly bored. Leila, for once, didn't catch her sarcasm.

"No!" Leila burst out. "One present might've been, I don't know, _proper_. Instead he got me three. _Three_. What's wrong with him?"

"Oh yeah, it's a big problem, your boyfriend getting you presents…"

"He's not my boyfriend," Leila hissed, drawing her face close to Alex's just in case anyone heard. "He's my fiancé. Big difference."

"He seems to like you," Alex said.

Leila growled. "Wonder why," she muttered grumpily.

"You like him too." It wasn't a question.

Leila sighed, deflating. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I do. It's just—I've never been in this kind of relationship before, y'know? I mean, with Rosier—it's just weird. Him—getting me presents, and coming all the way from Germany to see me, and stuff…"

"Not to mention he's older and can legally get you proper alcohol," Fred's torso appeared between them. "But butterbeer for you two."

Leila frowned. "How much did you hear?" she asked. Fred laughed and kissed her hat-clad hair.

"Enough to know that I should get you more presents," he said. "So what are doing after this? I've never seen an English village."

"Leila's heading toward one place only," Alex said. "The Quidditch shop."

"Well, we can't miss Honeydukes, or Alex will be sorely disappointed," Leila grumbled, but there was a small smile on her face as she sipped from her butterbeer. Alex shook her head and turned away slightly as Fred said something to Leila in German that she didn't understand.

Although Leila had invited Alex to be a buffer of sorts between her and Fred, it seemed as though Alex was only getting in the way of them growing closer together. Leila seemed overly apprehensive about the outcome of their relationship, not used to interacting with someone so… nice, as she put it. Fred, on the other hand, seemed to wait for Leila with good-natured patience, for which Alex had to commend him—even though his accent was sometimes hard to understand. She downed her butterbeer in a single swig and stood up unsteadily.

"I have to get going," she announced. "The post office closes a bit earlier on weekends, I think. Have fun, though." Not waiting for a response, she left the tavern, wondering what she'd have to do for the rest of the day.

"Wilson!" came a barking voice. Alex turned around, trying to school the small amount of alcohol in the system.

"Professor Petrovsky," she said, grinning a little. Petrovsky was hands down the best defense teacher she's had so far, and even Leila, despite her general dislike toward the subject, admitted that he had a sort of panache when it came to the subject. But she didn't think that she knew much about him. "Good afternoon—"

"You'll have to come with me," Petrovsky interrupted, and Alex noticed his shifting gaze for the first time. Eyes roving, constantly on the lookout for something… or someone. "The headmaster requests your presence."

"The headmaster?" Alex repeated, perplexed. "Why does he need me?"

But as Petrovsky opened his mouth to answer, a loud bang came from the central part of the village, followed by screams of multiple students. Alex froze.

"What's that?" she whispered.

"Death Eaters!" the screams finally reached her ears. Her eyes scanned for the source of the scream—Kimberly Tannen, the part-time clerk and Quill Shop, came running toward the direction. "Death Eaters! Run! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" Another bang shook their senses, closer this time, and more and more people began to panic and run toward the higher parts of the village into the forest.

"Sorry, Professor," Alex said, her voice faraway. "Need to make sure that all students have properly evacuated."

"Alex! Alex!" another familiar voice greeted her and Alex swiveled around to see James Potter running at her direction. "Did you hear—" whatever he was about to say was overtaken by a teeth-shaking boom. Alex nodded. Black and Remus soon caught up to them.

"We have to do something," James said, utterly serious for once. "Peter began to lead younger Gryffindors into Shrieking Shack, I hope no one faints from fright—"

"That's not our biggest concern right now," Remus said. "We have to get a word to Dumbledore."

"He already knows," Petrovsky said grimly. All heads turned toward him.

"Oh, hello, Professor," Remus said, ever the polite one. Sirius, on the other hand, was a bit rasher.

"What do you mean, he already knows?" he demanded. Petrovsky sighed.

"He received intelligence that an Order member held hostage escaped from her prison a few hours ago," he said. "Apparently, the Death Eaters had reasons to think that she was headed here."

"So he knows?" James yelled, frowning. "Why isn't he doing anything?"

"He can't," Petrovsky said curtly. Remus' eyes widened.

"He'd be giving himself away as being on the Orde—going against Voldemort, I mean," he said. "He's the Headmaster, he can't really take an actively open position on it when there are still students within the castle who are—y'know. Potential Death Eaters."

"Bloody politics," Sirius swore. Alex shook her head.

"No time for that now," she said. "We still have to get the students to safety."

"Ran into Lily and a couple others on our way here," Remus said. "They've taken care of the upper village."

"So our problem's the lower half," Alex said. "Do we have an estimate of how many Death Eaters are here?"

"A few dozen," James muttered. "Bloody hell, you'd think they'd know how to be discreet about these things…"

"This isn't just recapturing a hostage, this is a bloody hunt," Sirius said. "Alright, we have to fight back."

"Take down an entire army of Death Eaters? Are you mad?" Alex said. Sirius glared at her.

"Do _you_ have a better idea?"

"Our priority is to get them as far away from the students as possible," Petrovsky said. "Lupin, into the post office and send an owl to the Headmaster. Join Potter and Black once you're done. Potter, you're distracting half of them toward Hog's Head. The barkeeper should be able to help you."

"Aberforth?" James said, puzzled.

"Black, you're going with him. Wilson—you're with me." Without waiting for a response, Petrovsky began to march toward the source of the blasts and Alex jogged after him.

"Is this a good idea? Letting them go head-on against the Death Eaters…"

"They've been waiting for something like this for a while," Petrovsky said. "Never mind that they're students. I doubt that half of the Death Eaters are even over twenty." Alex's mind went toward Regulus for the first time and was glad that he was staying inside the castle that day—or had he been lying about his mission?

"What are we doing, Professor?" she asked, trying to brush away her suspicions. Petrovsky sighed.

"We're looking for the hostage," he said. "The Death Eaters aren't going to rest until they find her."

"Um," Alex said. "Do we know what she looks like, Professor?" Petrovsky stopped in his tracks, smelling the air. This reminded her of someone, but Alex couldn't remember whom.

"Yes, we do," he said. "She's your mother."

* * *

Regulus hated wearing the mask.

First of all, it made things ridiculously difficult to breath. His own breath was trapped within the mask, clogging his nose with its humid warmth. Second, hindered his sight—he couldn't see the corners of his eyes, which wasn't very helpful when dueling. Lastly—and the most importantly—it felt cowardly to hide behind a mask.

But he supposed that, in a village full of Hogwarts students, it might not be the worst idea to hide his identity.

Malfoy was walking next to him, flicking his wand every now and then at different storefronts.

"Is that really necessary?" Regulus mouthed. Malfoy looked straight ahead.

"It's not about necessity, Regulus," he answered before making one of the chimneys burst in flames. Regulus didn't know how to reply to this so he closed his mouth.

Hogsmeade felt different from behind the mask. It was a happy place for a lot of the students, a chance to go shopping and buy supplies, presents. This was—this felt wrong.

"We have a signal!" One of the recruits yelled excitedly. They'd managed to procure something of Sophia Wilson's and put a tracking charm on it to find the owner. So the charm had worked, then…

"Quiet," a new voice said from behind them. Regulus frowned, trying to remember where he'd heard it. Some time ago, but not that long ago…

"You'll attract attention," the voice continued. Malfoy scoffed.

"In case you haven't noticed, Warner," he said derisively, "we don't care about that right now." Regulus' back stiffened. Warner. Alex's—Alex's dad. This was—

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," there was irony in Warner's voice, no doubt. "Should I remind you of the incident in Shropshire?"

Instead of answering, Malfoy turned toward the recruits. "How far?" he asked authoritatively. The recruits were practically jumping in eagerness.

"Less than five hundred feet," one of them replied.

"Spread out," Malfoy ordered. "We need her found."

* * *

"What do you know about my mother?" Alex demanded despite the chilling sensation that froze her heart for a second, when Petrovsky mentioned her mother. Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"It's not important right now," Petrovsky muttered, smelling the air again. "She must be using a different wand," he muttered, sounding frustrated.

"I barely know who you are, and you're leading me somewhere while Death Eaters are running rampant," Alex snapped. "So tell me who you are and what you're doing." Petrovsky looked up from his search and stared straight into her face.

"I've been in this fight far longer than you or your mother have," he said quietly. "And I'm trying to help you, unlike that little Black boy. So you'll follow me."

Feeling chastised, Alex bit the inside of her mouth. "Are you in the Order?" she asked.

"No," Petrovsky answered. "But I know your mother."

"How—"

"Listen," Petrovsky whispered. Alex swallowed and stood still. They were in an almost empty street save the rustling leaves that made her feel as though someone else was just around the corner. She looked around.

"There's no one," Alex muttered.

"Come out," Petrovsky said loudly. "There's no one else. Just Alex."

Alex was about to point out that the alley was empty when one of the barrels—perhaps this was where Three Broomsticks kept their stores of wine—began to wriggle in its place until it was about to topple over. The rotund container began to elongate until it reached human height, but that wasn't all. The round belly began to grow smaller, smaller, and smaller, until—

"Alex?" it was, without a doubt, the voice of her mother. But the woman standing in front of her looked nothing like the woman Alex saw ten months ago. She was impossibly thin and pale, and her hair was matted together, as though she hadn't showered in the past ten months. Her clothes were grimy with dirt and something else, and there were cuts and bruises all over her face and neck. Alex couldn't begin to imagine what'd happened to her.

"She'd been taken hostage," Petrovsky answered the silent question in her head. "She's severely malnourished and—"

"Mum!" Alex burst into tears and ran toward her, feeling like she was nine-year-old again, running to her mother whenever mean girls at school bullied her and no one was on her side. Sophia Wilson felt impossibly boney and small in her arms. "Mum—"

"Alex," her mother sounded tearful as well. "Alex, thank Merlin you're okay—"

"We have to get going," Petrovsky said directly. "We don't have much time. _He_ 's here." At this Sophia Wilson straightened and looked at Petrovsky curiously.

"Ilya?" she asked. "What are you doing here? And what do you mean, he's—" something dawned on her and the blood drained from her already bloodless face. "Why?" she whispered.

"He's the best tracker they've got, probably," Petrovsky said, sounding tired. "My fault, really."

"It's not," Sophia Wilson said automatically, looking absent for a second. Then her attention went back to her daughter. "You have to hide," she said.

"I'm not leaving you," Alex said stubbornly.

"Her best chance is with me" Petrovsky agreed. "You know that. And they're here for you."

"Then we don't have much time," Sophia said. "Alex—Alex? Look at me. Listen closely, because you're going to have to remember this." Something in her mother's face scared Alex—more than the screams about the Death Eaters, more than the prospect of being hurt, more than anything.

"Mum," she said nervously. "What's going on?"

"I'm living on borrowed time," she said. "You can trust Ilya—"

"Professor Petrovsky?" Alex asked, confused. How did her mother even know—

"They're coming," Petrovsky muttered. Sophia Wilson grasped her daughter's hand urgently.

"He's always been there for you," she said. "Remember Mr. Munson?" Alex looked at Petrovsky in disbelief. He shrugged.

"Long story—"

"And your father," Sophia Wilson said. "I was wrong to tell you nothing about him, Alex, and you have to know, you have to know, Alex, that he's a good man—"

"Wilson!" Someone yelled from the end of the alleyway and Alex reflexively turned around to find cloaked figures approaching them. Alex looked back. It was a dead end.

"We can still make a run for it," Petrovsky murmured, slowly walking towards them while keeping the Death Eaters in sight.

"No," Sophia said. "Then I put all of you in danger. Make sure to give this to Dumbledore." She placed a small vial in Petrovsky's hand. He scrutinized her face.

"You're not meaning to—"

"I have to," Sophia Wilson said. "Besides, the wand I got isn't good enough for apparition, if they haven't placed the anti-apparition jinx over the entire village already."

"Mum?" Alex asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, Alex," Sophia Wilson said, kissing her forehead. "Remember that I'm so proud of you, and that I love you very, very much—"

"Sophia Wilson, drop your wand and surrender," the figure in front yelled again. Sophia raised the wand in her hand slightly.

"Why don't you show yourself?" she said. "I hate those who can't fight fair."

Several Death Eaters beind him made a move to cast a curse. The figure in the front raised his hand, stopping them. Slowly, he took off his mask and lowered his hood.

Alex stared.

"What—" she began to say, but Petrovsky clasped his hand on her mouth, effectively silencing her. She struggled against his grip, but his arms were stronger, keeping her in place. Alex looked in horror as her father smiled faintly. It was ghostly.

"Drop your wand, or this will be your last day," he said, his voice impossibly soft. Something in her mother changed, too, as if an understanding crossed between them. She smiled and, without a warning, raised her wand, crying:

" _Expulso_!" An unimaginably strong force flew from the tip of her wand toward the Death Eaters, but before it reached any of them, a purple jet shoot from Altair Wymond's wand straight into Sophia Wilson's heart. A second later he was knocked off his feet with the rest of the Death Eaters.

"NO!" Alex screamed, and this time Petrovsky didn't hold her back as she sprinted toward her mother's fallen figure.

"Mum? Mum!" Alex shouted, tears clouding her vision. "Mum—"

"Shh," Sophia Wilson said, coughing. "It's okay, Alex."

"You—" Alex struggled to say exactly what it was that she wanted to say. Her mother's breaths grew fainter. "I'm sorry," she managed at last, sobbing. "I'm so sorry. I love you. Please don't—"

"My time has come," Sophia said, stroking her daughter's hair. "I'm glad I got to see you one last time." Petrovsky approached them slowly and her gaze grew sharper.

"Ilya," she looked earnestly at Petrovsky. "You'll protect her, won't you?"

Petrovsky's his mouth set in a grim line, and his hands were shaking. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Mum, we can still—"

"No, we can't." The firmness in her voice surprised Alex, who looked at her in incomprehension.

"Remember that I'll always be with you," Sophia Wilson whispered. The light of life left her eyes.

"No, no, no—" Alex repeated like a broken record, but Petrovsky was stronger.

"We have to go, Alex," he said. Alex stood up to look for the person responsible.

"Where are they?" she demanded. Petrovsky shook his head.

"They're gone," he said. "My guess is that they sensed reinforcements coming."

"Alex?" James' confused voice came from the place where Death Eaters stood moments ago. "What happened? We tried to redirect some of them toward Hog's Head, but there wasn't anyone—" he stopped in his tracks when he realized that Alex was crouched over someone lying on the ground. "Who's that? What happened—"

"Mr. Potter," Petrovsky said. "Please make sure that the premises are closed. And get Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin to spread the news that it's safe to come out." He paused, regarding Alex pityingly.

"And could you send an owl to MacGonagall?" Alex added shakily. "Tell her that Sophia Wilson is dead."


	34. Chapter 34

Alexandra Sophia Wilson's first time to the Wilson Manor was on the day of her mother's funeral.

Having been on edge unfortunately meant that Alex could remember every step of the proceedings that had lead up to the funeral. Arrival of MacGonagall, followed by arrival of Ministry officials who had to identify the body, followed by contacting the living relatives, followed by arrival of her grandparents and uncle, followed by a tearful outburst from the grandparents, followed by meeting with a family advocate who wished to assess the material possessions of Sophia Wilson, followed by meeting with grandparents for funeral arrangements, followed by more meeting with Slughorn for leave of absence for a few days—extenuating circumstances, Alex said, and he expressed his sorrow at the loss of his former student who was "genuinely brilliant."

Funny how people remembered others once they were dead.

The service was brief, and attended only by a few "family friends" that Alex had never met and her mother's school friends whom Alex had also never met. She now sat awkwardly in the reception area—apart from the Potter's' house, Alex had never seen a house that had a reception area—in a black dress that her grandmother had bought for her; it was possibly the most expensive thing that she'd ever worn. Various wizards kept coming toward her as if to pay their respects, but left soon after when they saw the expression on her face. Alex wanted to punch through the ancient, well-plastered walls in the manor, through the portraits of the various ancestors of the Wilson family, even through the set of china kept in the cabinet in the dining room, even though Clara Wilson, her grandmother, had been kind to her when her grandfather or uncle weren't.

"I'm so sorry, Alexandra," another person came up to her and Alex tried to fill the hollow surface of her face with a bracing smile.

"Thank you, Ms…"

"Campbell," the middle-aged woman said. "At such a young age, what a shame… Sophia showed such promise, you know."

"I'm sorry, but you know her from—"

"Oh, from _Transfiguration Today_ , my dear, she was a colleague…" Alex nodded patiently and tried to listen, but it felt as though the area inside her skull was absolute vacuum, incapable of carrying any noise or information. Soon Ms. Campbell felt that she'd paid her respects enough to excuse her from further conscientious duties and left. Clara Wilson soon tottered toward her, a teacup in hand.

"Tea, Alex?" she said. "You haven't eaten all day."

Alex accepted the cup with thanks but didn't drink the tea. Clara Wilson sat down next to her, regarding the slowly emptying room with tiredness.

"I know it must be difficult to be here after all these years," she said, "but I'm nevertheless glad that you are here, dear."

Alex smiled wanly. "I didn't realize that Mum knew so many people in the wizarding world," she said. "I mean, I knew she had a life before—before she had me, that is, but—" Alex shrugged, giving up trying to articulate the inarticulable thoughts. Clara chuckled softly.

"Sophia got along with people surprisingly well for someone so… stubborn," she recalled fondly. "Charles we figured was more a people person, you know, with all his ingratiating." With a sad but playful wink her grandmother rose again to tend to some guests that were saying their last goodbyes. Alex watched the sun slowly set through the long windows with an increasing headache.

The next person to sit next to her was, to her surprise, Professor MacGonagall.

"Miss Wilson," she said stiffly, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief. It seemed that MacGonagall had been crying a little, but Alex wasn't sure if she was supposed to be comforting her. "My condolences. Sophia was—"

"It's alright, Professor," Alex said. "You don't need to—"

"No," MacGonagall said. "It was I who persuaded her to send you to Hogwarts and then, later, for her to join the Order. If it hadn't been for me—"

For the first time in her life Alex interrupted Professor MacGonagall. "If it hadn't been for you Mum still would've done all those things," she said. "She wouldn't have done anything that she didn't want to do."

MacGonagall smiled faintly. "Perhaps," she sighed. "But Alex, do you know what you're going to do next? Will you return to Hogwarts?" But before Alex could answer, Augustus Wilson's thin, tall figure appeared in front of them, blocking the rays of an evening sun.

"Alexandra," he said. "It's bad manners to sit in the corner and keep the guests waiting." Alex bit down yet another tart retort—she'd been keeping several down in the last few days, knowing that her mother wouldn't like her getting into a row with her grandfather. But her grandfather really didn't see herself clearly sometimes.

"Really, Augustus," MacGonagall said coolly. "I don't think they are here for Alex."

"Regardless, this is the Wilson household and here she should act like a Wilson—"

"And is abandoning your daughter and taking her back when she's dead what a Wilson does?" Alex said, standing up. "Or is it just your way?"

"Sit _down_ , Alexandra," Augustus said through gritted teeth. "I won't tolerate this kind of disrespect in my house." Alex was tempted to say something—take out her anger out on a very justifiable target—but the presence of one of her professors held her back.

"That's enough, Augustus," MacGonagall, to Alex's surprise, came to her defense. "Considering your neglect of Sophia, you really don't have the right to tell Alex to do anything."

"And you're our guest, Minerva," Augustus said coolly. "Have enough sense not to overstay your welcome." Without another word he turned around and walked away. Alex closed her eyes momentarily from the pain of the headache, rubbing her forehead gently. Beside her MacGonagall harrumphed.

"Your grandfather was always the man of his ways," she said. Alex smiled thinly.

"He's a pureblood patriarch," she muttered, "without the blood purity craze." MacGonagall smiled thinly as well.

"You should've heard him during the eulogies," Alex continued. "Going on about how Mum was the paragon of virtue in her fight against the evils of Voldemort… who even told him about her Order activities?"

"I believe Professor Dumbledore wrote him a brief letter explaining the circumstances of her death, the details which you yourself provided" MacGonagall said. Alex nodded, looking away.

She didn't tell anyone that it was Altair Wymond who killed her mother. During her statement to Dumbledore, she described vaguely how a jet of purple light came from one of the Death Eaters, which was true enough. She didn't know how to say that her mother was killed by her father—were they even married at any point in their lives? Alex hoped not. She shuddered even to think about it. A Death Eater father. And her mother knew, the entire time, and never told her… Regret and guilt tore at her heart, gnawing it as a hungry dog does to a bone.

Her last words that her father was a good man puzzled her, but she didn't wish to think about it, consider the possibility that her father was, indeed, a good man. Too many emotions swam inside her, but there was only one that she could bear—anger at her father, that he killed her mother, that he deceived her all those years of complete silence and absence, pretending to be a nice person who cared about her—and to kill the woman who had his child. Who did that?

"Professor Petrovsky." MacGonagall's surprised voice made Alex look up from her teacup. Petrovsky was indeed standing in front of her, looking rather out of place in his old, worn cloak. He held a bouquet of yellow flowers that Alex didn't recognize.

"Professor MacGonagall," Petrovsky said in his way of greeting. "Alex. I thought I'd pay my respects, seeing as—I was there with your mother." Alex nodded numbly. MacGonagall clasped her hand on her shoulder.

"Take your time," MacGonagall said, "but sixth year is academically trying. Inform Professor Slughorn when you'll be back, and we'll decide how we'll proceed onwards." Alex nodded.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, trying to smile. MacGonagall sniffled stiffly before disappearing into the hallway. Petrovsky stood in front her, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Thank you for coming, Professor," Alex said quietly. Petrovsky sighed.

"I should've come sooner," he replied, sitting awkwardly by her side. "But I didn't think that your grandparents would've approved of my presence here."

Alex frowned. "Why's that?"

Petrovsky regarded her carefully. "How much do you know about your father?" he eventually asked. Alex's shoulders sank in deflation, but her guard went up.

"Are you a relative of his?"

"No," Petrovsky shook his head vigorously, as if that was an unthinkable prospect. "No, but—I knew your father and his parents. I was his tutor, of sorts."

"A tutor," Alex repeated cautiously. Petrovsky sighed.

"Did your mother tell you nothing about him?"

"Nothing," Alex confirmed. "But I did do some digging around, and—" Alex looked down at the gold chain around her neck, which she couldn't take off, no matter how much she tried. "I think I'm right about a few things."

"How much did you find out?" Petrovsky said. Alex hesitated. Just who exactly Petrovsky was, she didn't know. Her mother's implicit trust in him made her want to trust him, one of her favourite professors at Hogwarts, but did she know anything about him, really? And her mother, who was killed by one person she must've trusted beyond everyone else—enough to leave her family—could she really rely on her judgement?

"I learned that the family's not from England," Alex said. "My grandparents came over from… central or eastern Europe, the location was a bit vague. They come from an old… club, I suppose."

"A club," Petrovsky repeated incredulously.

"I found a book from the fifteenth century," Alex said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "One of my ancestors, I think, called Polaris Wymond, claimed that she belonged to a secret society called Conservato, which is related to the legend of the Four Points… but surely she was just claiming heritage of something to sound important," Alex added the last sentence, watching Petrovsky's reaction. To her disappointment, he remained immobile, watching her talk. "Why?"

"It's not a legend," Petrovsky said quietly. Alex blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's not a legend." Petrovsky shot furtive glances at the leaving guests before turning back to her. "It's true. The history of the four clans. Conservato. The Darkhiders—surely you must've come across the name during your research."

"I did."

"The Wymonds was—is one of the oldest families in the Conservato," Petrovsky said. "The line survives with you, the female heir. The position as the head of the family always passed from a female to a female."

Alex frowned. "I beg your pardon?" she repeated.

"The Wymonds," Petrovsky repeated. "Your father's name. You, as well. Your grandmother was Polaris Wymond… the fifth, I think."

"How do you know all this?" Alex said. Petrovsky sighed.

"I told you, I was Al's tutor," he said patiently. Alex stared at him.

"Who are you?" Alex whispered. "Are you—Mum said you were Mr. Munson, which is silly, because I know what he looks like—"

"And you know that wizards can change their appearance," Petrovsky said.

" _For fifteen years_?"

Petrovsky shrugged. "I was always handy with potions, and Polyjuice Potion isn't very difficult to brew, especially if you've done it for fifteen years. Let's say that there's an old man in the neighborhood town who had a twin for fifteen years without knowing."

"So I just worked for you that summer before fifth year—"

"Your Mum thought it would be a good idea," Petrovsky, or Mr. Munson, the local drug store owner, whoever it was, said calmly. "She was going away for Order missions more and more often, and she wanted me to keep an eye on you."

Alex stared at the face that should've been familiar. "So you just happened to live in the same small town that I lived in—"

"Happened? No." A strange glint came to Petrovsky's eyes. "No. It was never a coincidence." A silence settled between them.

"Who are you?" Alex repeated. Petrovsky sighed again.

"It is a very, very long story," he said. "And tonight's not the best night to tell it."

"You knew my father."

"When your grandparents came to England, I accompanied them. I was supposed to look after their well-being. And when Altair was born, his education. His parents died when he was still in school—" he paused, looking worriedly at Alex. "So I was his guardian for a while. And—well, when he joined the Death Eaters and disappeared, I decided that I'd keep an eye on your mother. And later, you." Petrovsky looked at her expectantly, as if she would be instantly convinced by this summary. Alex tried not to let her helplessness show.

"I see," she said unhelpfully. Petrovsky sighed. Alex was beginning to get a sense that Petrovsky sighed often.

"I also come from a long line of Darkhiders," Petrovsky murmured quietly. "It's been a long time since I've been at Elsinore, but—again, that is a story for another time. What matters is—well, your mother knew of who I was, and she didn't want you to be involved in any of—the Wymond family business. Which was understandable, considering—all the things that Altair did." Again he looked at her expectantly.

"You want to teach me to become a Darkhider?" Alex said slowly. Petrovsky shook his head.

"No, no, Darkhider is just a title given to initiates who finished the final test," Petrovsky said. "But—in a word, yes."

"To bring me closer to my father," Alex said.

"No," Petrovsky said resolutely.

"Then—"

"When your mother didn't come back during the summer, I asked Dumbledore if there was a way I could stay near Hogwarts. He offered me the position to teach Defense. But the education at Hogwarts is—insufficient. To survive." Alex regarded him skeptically.

"You don't have to come with me," Petrovsky said. "And if you want to continue to go to Hogwarts, that would be fine as well. But if you want another kind of education, away from everyone for a while… I just want you to know that you have this option." Alex nodded mutely.

"Let me know what you think," Petrovsky said, rising to go. Alex stood up with him, strangely wishing that he wouldn't go and leave her alone in this grand, shining, cold mansion.

"Where will you be?" Alex asked.

"Hogwarts, for now," Petrovsky said. "I still have a job, it seems." Alex nodded again.

"Is Petrovsky your real name?" Alex asked. Petrovsky smiled for the first time. Alex tried to hide her surprise—he looked so… young. But he'd known her grandparents.

"Petrose. Ilya Danillovich Petrose. I suppose you might call me Petrose. That's what Wymond women usually called us, anyway. When we're not at Hogwarts, that is."

"Alright," Alex said awkwardly. Petrose turned to go.

"Um, Petrose?" Petrose looked inquisitively at her.

"Thank you," Alex said shyly. Petrose buried his head in his chest, as if the compliment embarrassed him.

"I'll see you soon, Wilson," he said brusquely and left without another word. Alex watched him go, wondering.

"Who was that, Alex?" Clara came, breaking Alex from her reverie. Alex turned.

"He's one of my professors at Hogwarts," Alex said. "He knew… my mum, I think."

Clara nodded. "It was nice of him to come. And leave these flowers!" She picked up the flowers that Petrose had left on the bench besides Alex without her noticing. Alex smoothed out the small petals whose color reminded her of her golden shield.

"Yes," she said. "I think he is a nice man."

* * *

Alex decided to leave the Wilson Manor two days after the funeral. Augustus Wilson, despite her quietness, seemed determined to dislike everything that she did to the point that Clara Wilson herself was left to wonder what was happening in her husband's mind ("he's not this stubborn usually," she confided in Alex as consolation, leaving a chocolate bar on her desk), and, moreover Alex grew restless not doing anything. Those who came to visit her told her to take her time to grieve, but all Alex could do by herself was nothing but to restlessly pace, wishing for something that would take her mind off taking her time to grieve. Leila's letters containing assignments from different classes were a nice distraction, but they were difficult to do without attending her classes.

"Write us often," Clara Wilson said. "I've read every one of your letters to your grandfather, you know. Even though he doesn't let it show."

"I will," Alex said.

"And you know you're welcome to join us for Christmas, don't you? Just give us the word—"

"I think she gets the point, Mother," Charles Wilson, Alex's uncle that she'd seen more than five years ago, abruptly ended the conversation. "Good luck, Alexandra," he said stiffly. "I've told Ben what'd happened, and he'd more than gladly help you if you need help with any of the assignments—that is, he has to study for the N.E.W.T.s, but—"

"Nonsense, Charles," Clara Wilson scolded him. "Alex is a very smart student—she got nine O.W.L.s!"

"Nine, huh?" Charles Wilson said, squinting at her. "I see."

"Charles always felt like he had to compete with Sophie," Clara Wilson whispered to her when no one else was looking. "Don't let him pit Ben against you, although my bet's on you, my dear." Alex couldn't help but grin at this.

"Thanks, Grandma," she said, hugging the old woman briefly. "I'll write soon." Augustus Wilson was not present for the farewell. Alex grabbed a handful of floo powder, and, seconds later, was looking out from MacGonagall's fireplace.

"Welcome, Miss Wilson," MacGonagall said from her desk. "I believe that most of the castle is currently at dinner."

"Yes, Professor," Alex said, trying not to brush off ash onto the carpet.

The way down toward the dungeons was—exactly the same. The same bright light came from the Great Hall, and students were chatting, laughing, giggling in the exact same way Alex remembered. But nothing felt like how it used to be.

Leila was lying on her stomach, going through a broom catalogue. She looked up when Alex entered the room, looking surprised.

"You're back!" she yelled. "So early?"

Alex tried to smile. "I thought it might be better," she said. Leila nodded hesitantly.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. Alex sank to her bed, looking around the room that'd been her home for the past five years. It'd been less than a week, but she felt as though she'd been away a lifetime.

"I don't know," Alex replied. "I think I'm supposed to cry more, or something like that. Everyone's telling me to take time to grieve, but—I don't even know what I feel." Leila sighed.

"Look, I know that this is horrible timing," she said. "But Slughorn asked me to temporarily step in as the sixth-year Prefect while you were away, and I was scheduled to patrol tonight. I can still do it," she added hastily when she saw Alex's face, "but Regulus is the other prefect on duty, and—I thought maybe you'd like to talk to him."

Alex turned the lapis lunae pendant that Regulus gave to her in fourth year in her hands, feeling its cool, smooth surface. She'd purposefully avoided thinking about Regulus in the past week, knowing that whatever answer she had about him—he was a question now, a problem in her life that she needed to solve—would not be pleasant. Alex feared that she already knew the answer, but just didn't want to admit it—but was it out of habit, or fear? Or was it guilt?

"Yeah," Alex said dully. "I guess I should talk to him, huh?"

"Alex, about your Mum—" Leila paused, carefully looking at her face. "There's just a rumor, y'know that… that she was killed by Death Eaters."

Alex's silence was enough of an answer. Leila whistled lowly.

"And Regulus Black is—"

"Yeah," Alex confirmed, not wanting to hear the full question. "He joined last summer."

"Bloody hell." Alex laughed, but it was full of irony.

"Sounds about right."

"Alex, I don't know everything about you two, but—" Leila sighed again. "If there's one thing I learned in the past sixteen years about the opposite sex, it's this: boys who don't treat you well don't deserve you."

Alex smiled humorlessly. "You don't think runaway older brother and psychologically unstable parents plus tradition and fortune won't bend that rule a little?"

"All the reasons why you should keep to the rule," Leila said resolutely. "If you start making excuses for them—when's that going to stop?" Alex rubbed her face in fatigue.

"I'll think about it," she muttered, standing up. "I have prefect duties, it seems."

Regulus was already waiting for her by the entrance to the dungeons.

"Alex," he said, looking surprised. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon." He seemed to want to say more but decid against it. Alex shrugged.

"Let's get this over with," she muttered, taking out the map of the castle again.

It was one of the busier nights, but somehow, for Alex, the easiest patrol she'd done. As the students were about to protest—about the contrabands, about being out after hours—they took one look at Alex's face and even the people who didn't know what happened to her mother saw something in her expression that shut them up. For once, Alex couldn't bring herself to care enough about how other people saw her position. Even Regulus stayed a little behind, looking… cautious. This irritated her.

"Out with it, then," she snapped, her patience wearing thin by the time they reached the sixth floor. "What is it?"

Regulus shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. "I'm sorry for your loss," he murmured.

"Are you?" Alex muttered into air. Regulus looked up, his face angry.

"How could you say that?" he asked. "Of course I'm sorry that you lost your mother. You're in pain."

"You didn't like her to start with," Alex said. Her words sounded so foreign to her, as if she wasn't even speaking—and why was she trying to pick a fight with Reg anyway? Didn't she just want to have a conversation with him? See if—what did she want to see, anyway?

If he would be on her side. On everything.

"That's not even relevant," Regulus snapped. Alex leaned against the wall, suddenly very, very tired.

"Tell me something," she said. "Were you there? At Hogsmeade? Did I see you?"

Regulus' whole body grew stony but he didn't say anything.

"Tell me," Alex repeated, her voice weak.

"Yes," Regulus barely croaked.

"Yes, what?" Alex said. "That you were there? As a—behind the mask? Or that I saw you?"

"Yes to all," Regulus said with some more force.

"So you just—you just stood there and watched—"

"We didn't know what Warner was going to do," Regulus said, knotting his fingers in his hair in frustration. "That bloody, shifty—"

"Warner?" Alex repeated. "He's my father. Do you know him?" Regulus' face fell and he looked helplessly back at her in all his pale dread.

"You knew about my father the entire time?" Alex whispered. Regulus shook his head.

"Yes. No. Yes. _No_." He was looking desperately into her face for any signs of softness. "I met him last winter—"

" _Last_ winter?"

"I recognized him from one of the photographs you showed me of him, and I was told that his name was Warner, and he was the Recruiter for the Dark Lord—" Regulus looked around. "Can we take this somewhere else?"

Alex's eyes blazed dangerously. "Talk. Now," she growled. Regulus sighed.

"I didn't know how to bring it up without talking too much about serving the Dark Lord," he mumbled. "And then I found out that my parents had been cooperating with him longer than I knew—" Again he looked desperately at Alex. For once, she didn't feel being merciful.

" _What_?"

"Father built prison cells underneath the house," Regulus whispered quietly. "Your mum was held there."

For a moment Alex couldn't hear anything, felt like she couldn't see anything. Only her breathing helped her retain her awareness; the painful expansion of her chest told her that she was still alive.

"For how long?" she managed. Regulus wasn't looking at her anymore.

"Long enough," he muttered.

"So you knew who my father was and where my mother was, while I knew neither," Alex spit sarcastically. Regulus bit his lips and looked away.

"SAY SOMETHING!" Alex yelled. "Why don't you _bloody_ try to make an excuse, or apologize, or—"

"Apologize for what, exactly?" Regulus' eyes glinted harshly in the dimmed castle. "That I kept family business within the family?"

"Then exactly what _do_ I mean to you?" Alex wavered. Regulus, on the other hand, seemed to grow steelier.

"You're the only piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit anywhere," he said lowly. Alex swallowed back emerging hot tears and took a shuddering breath.

"It's clear that I wasted my time," she said, trying to hide the hurt that threatened to rupture into her voice. "I thought—yeah, I thought that you knew how precious my mother was to me. My only family. I thought you wanted to be with me and plan our lives together." This seemed to rattle Regulus, who began to pace in the corridor

"Stop jumping to conclusions about—we can still plan a life together, can't we?" Regulus said, a strange light shining from his eyes. For the first time in her life, Alex didn't trust the expression in his face anymore. "You can be with me—"

"But you won't be with me, not for your own life," Alex said, coolly. "Because there's no way that you'd choose anything else than being a Death Eater for me. Even when it means—"

"Don't—"

"Even when it means that my Mum will die, and she was kept right under your house for the entire summer, no, the great Regulus Black will still do what he has to do for his family, and I will just have to do what you need me to do for you—"

"Will you stop making me out to be the bad person here—"

"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe I wasn't making myself clear," Alex shouted. "I'm saying that you're an absolutely horrible, the most disgusting person that I've ever had the misfortune of meeting." Regulus froze in his spot.

"We've had five years together, Alex," he said quietly. "Do they mean nothing to you?"

"Exactly, Regulus," Alex shot back. "Did the past five years mean nothing to you?" Slowly, Regulus straightened.

"I thought you cared for me," he said stiffly. Alex looked away.

"I do," she said. "Do you?"

Regulus didn't say anything. Alex looked at his face, the face that she'd seen thousand times before, always with wistfulness, affection, gladness—but his handsome face seemed cold now, and impossibly distant.

"I don't think this is going to work," Alex finally said. Regulus nodded in the same stiff, formal manner.

"If that's what you want." _No_ , Alex wanted to scream at him. _That's not what I want. I want you to hold on to me and tell me that we can try to make this work_. But judging from how his eyes had closed her off from him, she knew that nothing like that was going to happen.

"Fine," she said spitefully instead, even though—she was the first one to say it, wasn't she? She clumsily took off the necklace he'd given her, holding it out to him. He stared at it numbly, as though he did not expect that particular turn of events.

"You can keep it," he said.

"I don't want it."

"I don't need it."

"It's family heirloom," Alex bit out. "I'm never going to need it." He was searching her face and then, without an argument, he took the necklace, shoulders slumping.

"I'll see you around," he muttered, and, without waiting for an answer, he turned away and went toward the direction that they were supposed to go patrolling. Alex stared after him, uncomprehending for a moment. Did they just—break up?

She started toward the dungeons, mindlessly taking in the scenes around the castle. That was the staircase that she and Regulus took when they needed to rush to Charms. That was the suit of armor that they once hid behind as they tried to prank his brother in their second year—how awfully that'd gone. That was the classroom that Regulus once pulled her into during the early stage of their "relationship," where every glance still felt new and hopeful. That was the window from which she sometimes watched him practice Quidditch, and that was the main corridor, and that was—the entire castle, filled with nothing but memories of the things that they shared, and it seemed that her life at Hogwarts was made up of nothing but moments she shared with him, even thought that couldn't be true. Her lungs felt heavy, and it grew increasingly difficult to breath, like every breath she took could barely keep her floating. Her feet led her, but she wasn't sure exactly where she was going until she knocked on the door.

Petrose opened the door, looking a little surprised and worried.

"Alex," he said. "Is there something wrong?"

Alex panted—had she been running? "Tell me about my family," she said. "Tell me everything."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed/followed/favourited! I always enjoy hearing from you :")


	35. Book II: Chapter 1

The rock beneath her fingers felt unforgiving and far too smooth for security, but Alex gripped the minuscule bump, planting her fingertips in the tiny holes that she couldn't find—more often her fingers would dig some sort of a hold into the surface. A sting of pain that she had become far too accustomed to greeted her hands, but Alex slowly pulled herself up, feeling her shoulder muscles tense to support her weight. Her hair was already matted with sweat and grime, sticking too obstinately to her face that she couldn't even bother blowing it away. It had been long past since she cared about her clothing, as long as it served to protect her from the worst natural elements. She put her left feet on a new supporting niche, testing its steadiness. It gave to her weight and Alex closed her eyes briefly as she heard the pebbles roll off the cliff, creating some cheerful medley inviting her to join them on their descent. Her grip tightened. Almost there.

The past several months were spent in various locations around—well, Alex assumed that they were still in Europe, although she wouldn't be surprised if they had crossed the Ural Mountains into Asia—running and hiking mostly, although occasionally—and more frequently—they came across obstacles where Alex had no choice but to face head-on, whether a cliff or a tribe of banshees or whatever the nature fancied, while Petrose observed from Merlin knew where, having already arrived at the next stop before her. She breathed in deeply. At least the air was clear and fresh to invigorate her. There was not much to rely on; even the sun and the moon seemed bent on tricking her. It had been long since she had lost a track of time.

"Took you long enough," she heard Petros comment when her fingers finally grasped something flat and sturdy. Alex glared into the stony surface in front of her but chose not to answer back, instead using up her energy to pull herself up. Her upper body now supported on the flat top, she slumped to the ground and let her legs dangle midair.

"I do believe that I'm getting stronger," she gasped into the ground.

"You're better than when you first started," Petrose conceded. "But you were dismal back then." Sometimes Alex wondered if the spirit of McGonagall was shared between a few select individuals who delighted in tormenting their students.

"What lies ahead?" Alex grunted, now pulling up her legs.

Petros checked his compass. "Northward," he concluded. "There's a cave behind a waterfall. The valley leading up to the location is especially beautiful, or so I seem to remember."

"Which we'll have to climb," Alex muttered.

"No," Petrose answered lightly, sounding almost amused. "Which you'll have to climb."

Stifling a groan, Alex stood up, her legs shakily managing to support her.

"Grasshopper," Petrose said, and Alex gritted her teeth. She'll be damned.

* * *

Their first stop, to Alex's surprise, was her home in Devon. Alex stepped off the Knight Bus, dragging her Hogwarts suitcase behind her, feeling hollow. She had not breathed in the autumn night air of her home for the past five years, and it seemed as though she'd forgotten. Petrose stepped off the bus behind her, carrying a duffel bag of his possessions—it seemed that there were few things that he kept in his possession.

"We need to pack," Petrose said.

"What are we packing for, exactly?" Petrose looked thoughtfully at his notebook.

"All sorts of weather," he said. "Don't pack too heavy, though, we won't be using magic to carry it. Come to the store when you're done." Alex nodded, setting off toward the direction of her house without understanding what was exactly happening. Just a few hours ago she'd given notified Slughorn her intention to take an indefinite break from Hogwarts, packed everything in her room, walked with Petrose all the way to Hogsmeade in order to take the Knight Bus, not knowing what it was that Petrose promised or had in mind for her. He'd said very little during the ride or before.

Her house looked unkempt. Overdue mail was stuffed into the mailbox (but it seemed that Petrose had in fact took the mail out periodically until summer), and cans and bottles thrown onto the porch had collected with dirt and browning tree leaves in the corners. Alex took out the key that she hadn't used in almost a year and opened the door, feeling the dusty air gush through the hallway.

The house looked exactly the way that she'd left it.

Christmas decorations were still on the stairwell, the ones that her Mum and she'd put up angrily—they'd been fighting. About Regulus. Who, apparently, didn't care about her at all. The reality of what'd happened in the past few days began to sink and Alex sunk to the ground and curled up into a ball, feeling like a five-year-old waiting for her mother to come home. She remembered the days before she knew about magic and wizards, when the biggest worry she had was being bullied by her schoolmates for being "odd" and they would have dinner every day together at the table, her wondering if there will be chocolate cake for desert. It felt like yesterday, and she would never have that moment again.

Someone sat beside her and offered her a handful of tissues. Alex looked up, her vision blurry. She'd been crying.

"It's been over an hour," Petrose said. "I thought something happened."

Alex wiped her nose with the end of her sleeve. "I'm sorry. I lost track of time." Her voice was thick. Petrose sighed and took something out of his pocket.

"Chocolate?" Alex couldn't help but laugh a little.

"I'm not a kid," she said. Petrose grinned.

"I thought you liked them two years ago," he said, peeling the wrapper off and handing her a broken piece. Alex remembered how that summer Petrose had slipped in a few Mars bars into her bag for her trip to Hogwarts.

"Why did you own a drug store, anyway?" Alex asked. "It's not—well, it's not what you trained to do, is it?"

Petrose shrugged. "Everyone in town comes to the drug store," he replied. "It's the best way to keep an eye on people."

Alex shrunk into the wall. "Oh." She tried to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes.

"You didn't tell me where we were going," she eventually said. "It's hard to pack when you don't know."

"We're taking the _wanderweg_ ," he said as if that explained everything.

"I'm sorry?"

" _Wanderweg_ , it's—a route that every initiate takes as part of their final exam in order to be branded as a Darkhider. Usually an initiate starts at the school entrance and ends up somewhere in Central Asia—it's a little different for everyone depending on the season and what everyone is like. Some have gone as far as Vladivostok."

"So you just—go for a hike?"

"Well, you are expected to survive on minimal assistance," Petrose said drily. "Some wizards still do it and write—what are they, travelogues? Encounters with zombies, vampires." He rolled his eyes. "It's not that glamorous, but it is practical experience on Defense and basic survival skills. Not everyone ends up finishing it."

"I don't really think I'm ready to take the final exam to be a Darkhider."

"Well, it won't be a proper examination. We're not going to follow every rule about the initiation. We'll just take the same route and make some stops along the way."

Alex blew her nose violently into the tissues. "Pack for everything," she said, standing up unsteadily. "This might take a bit."

"It's getting late," he said. "I thought we might set off tonight, but maybe tomorrow morning will be better. I'll come by at dawn." Alex looked around the house. Spending the night here seemed like a horrible idea.

"Could I stay with you?" she blurted out. Petrose' face looked unfathomable in the moonlight.

"If it's not too much trouble, that is." She added quickly. Petrose nodded.

* * *

Petrose' house above the convenience store had a collection of magical weaponry that would've put most residents of her town running out the front door. Petrose kept her from approaching any of them too closely, saying that she wasn't ready. Instead, he'd passed her a wooden stick, which Alex currently held in her hands.

The shock rattled her arm but she tightened the grip instead, knowing that letting go would mean worse in the long run. _Observe, anticipate, and react,_ she told herself the mantra that Petrose had drilled into her. Unfortunately, the theory did not always interpret well into practice.

It was foggy in the valley, and the chill of the morning, compounded with hunger, made her legs wobble. Enchanted dolls were dancing around her—or so she presumed, except that she could not see anything that was not three feet or closer to her—armed with swords, and, from what Alex could gather, a _boomerang_?

A flash of light followed a spell that Alex couldn't tell—but it hardly mattered if she could discern what is was or not. She swung the stick, holding it like a shield, and deflected it.

"STOP REACTING AND START ANTICIPATING!" Petrose yelled. Alex paused and breathed in slowly. She was too tense to actually observe anything. She breathed in again, paying attention to the flow of air around her. A sound behind her, followed by something in front of her. Her sides were empty, or so it seemed. But the buzzing grew louder, and it sounded like she was surrounded at all sides. Alex swore. She reached in to the vest and drew out a dagger discreetly, feeling its worn handle give weight to her hand. Alex closed her eyes. The buzz grew faint and loud, at one side and the other the next, and Alex felt her lips compress thinly. Carefully, she took an aim and threw.

The buzzing stopped. Alex breathed out a sigh of relief. Then, she felt something whizz next her ear.

Apparently, the boomerang was still intact.

Knowing that it would come back, Alex listened to the sound of the weapon, grimacing as it drew closer and closer. To locate the attacker she would need to follow the weapon, and it wouldn't be easy. She jumped, and when the boomerang whooshed past her, she ran after its direction. Finally, she stumbled against something.

"Wha—"

An inanimate doll made of haystack lay on the ground tangled with her feet and Alex kicked it aside, only to feel the hay tighten around her ankles.

"Drop your weapon," she heard Petrose's voice behind her. A sharp tip pressed against her neck and Alex knew it was his own stick.

Alex slashed wildly at the doll beneath her, sending bits and pieces of the material at Petrose's direction. He waved his free hand in front of his face to shield his vision from the attack. Their eyes met.

They raised their weapons at the same time. Alex charged more quickly, but Petrose was stronger. He brought it upon her own, and Alex felt the shock shake her arm. With their weapons locked, Petrose took one foot and kicked at her stomach. Alex drew back, and, as Petrose's stick momentarily slipped as she drew backward, Alex slashed at his shoulder. It made a hit.

"Look at that," Alex said, a little dazed. "An actual hit."

"Yes," Petrose said, nodding. "Still a lot to do."

* * *

Petrose explained to her that Muggle action movies and wizard dueling had some things in common—both required reflex skills, which came from reacting to opponent's movements. She remembered hearing something similar from somewhere else—perhaps it was an article on dueling on the _Daily Prophet_ —but wanted to argue that fighting like a Muggle was much more taxing on the body. Her palms were covered with blisters and calluses from hours of training with a wooden stick and daggers (to improve her dismal aim, Petrose said). Actual spells, Petrose didn't teach her much, but evenings were spent going over theoretical spell and potionwork by herself (Petrose somehow managed to fit all her textbooks into the bulky knapsack on her back) so that she was still learning things other than fighting. Mornings and afternoons were spent hiking the _wanderweg_. And foraging for food, as well, for sometimes they went on for weeks without encountering a Muggle village.

Breakfast was oatmeal mixed with something… far earthier.

"How long has it been—five, six months?" Alex asked.

Petrose remained silent for a while, stirring the pot.

"It's just past Easter," Petrose said. "A little more than five months."

"Five months," Alex wondered. "Where are we, by the way?"

"Somewhere near Georgia," Petrose said. "The boundaries are always changing, so who knows?"

"That's pretty impressive, isn't it?" Alex said, good-humoredly smiling at him. Petrose shook his head amusedly.

"Considering that my own nephew completed my exam in four months—that means going all the way and coming back—I'd say you have a long way to go," he replied. Alex rolled her eyes.

"You mentioned your nephew once," she said. "Wasn't he with you for a summer?"

"Yes," Petrose said, and his tone made it clear that that was all he had to say on the matter. Alex leaned against the tree trunk, unsure, for the thousandth time, just exactly how much she knew about Petrose, even though he seemed to have known her for her entire life.

So it was already spring…

* * *

Leila Parkinson's train ride ruined any joy she'd felt during Easter break.

Fred had come to visit, and they decided to spend some time together in one of the family's country cottages, which elicited some raised eyebrows from the parents, but Leila argued that she'd studied hard all semester (what she studied, she didn't bother to mention) and that she could use a serious break. So they spent a week in Kent, seven glorious, gentle days…

As she slowly made the way to the Slytherin carriage, wondering if she could justify sitting in an empty compartment instead (the Slytherins tended to notice these things), someone burst forth from the bathroom and rammed into her.

"Watch it," she snapped, only to see that the bitch who knocked into her was Rebecca Goyle with a stupid beam on her face. Her hair was messed up and her robes were barely put on. Leila raised her eyebrow as Rebecca wiped the corner of her lips where the lipstick smudged.

"Hi," Rebecca giggled, looking back at the bathroom door.

Leila didn't know what she felt for her former friend anymore. Sometimes she imagined that she could almost tolerate being in the same room with her. Rebecca didn't have any life ambitions other than to look pretty and meet a handsome, rich husband. That was a sad kind of a life, even by Leila's standards. And Rebecca certainly didn't know any better. But on the other hand, she was malicious, put people down for no good reasons, and, most importantly, had no consideration for other people's feelings, shagging Rosier even though she knew Leila had feelings for him, being completely senseless of everything other than herself.

"That way," Leila said archly, pointing at the Slytherin compartment.

Something in Leila's tone caught Rebecca's ear. "Hey," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You don't have the right to judge me. Just because you're engaged and straight and narrow now, doesn't mean everyone doesn't remember how you were last year—"

"Never mind," Leila snapped. "Do whatever you want." Rebecca wobbled as the train turned around a curve and, seeming rather inebriated, fumbled her way toward the compartment. Sighing, Leila decided to follow her when the bathroom door opened for the second time.

"Parkinson," Black muttered, straightening his robes. Leila scrutinized his face. He looked as pale as ever, and his cheekbones had been getting prominent as he sprouted a foot over last year (to the delight of the Slytherin girls—and some of the Ravenclaws, it seemed). His hair was immaculately brushed back, a style that he'd adopted sometime after—after Alex left. With his dark hair and pale skin, he looked like the Muggle character Dracula, the very opposite of his brother Sirius—who let his slightly long hair blow wildly in the wind, energetic, bouncy. As Black made a move to pass him by, Leila caught a smell of cologne and something else.

"Oi," she said. "Prefects are not allowed possession of banned substances." Black raised one elegant eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't give me that crap," Leila snapped. "I know the smell of Zonko's special products as well as you do. Though, if I'm being honest, it smells stronger than Zonko's stuff." Leila's eyes widened. "Blimey, do you have an actual dealer, or something?"

"Piss off," Black said irritably, trying to move past her again. Leila grabbed his left arm and he hissed—in pain or in warning, Leila couldn't tell.

"Don't stick your large nose into other people's business, Parkinson," Black growled.

"Normally, I would be more than happy to watch your—barely contained debauchery. But we both know that this isn't about you wanting to have a pint or a shag—"

"No?" Black's eyes gleamed dangerously. "How would you know that?"

Now Leila's frustration was getting the better of her. "Because, Merlin help me, I thought that, compared to rest of the blokes in our year, that yeah, maybe you were half-decent."

"Jealous, Parkinson?" Black drawled. "You know that I would consider you, if you want."

"Shut up," Leila said forcefully. "Stop trying to be something you're not. It's not working."

"Desperate suits you, Parkinson," Black taunted.

"Bloody hell," Leila muttered. "Don't you know that, for some deranged reason, Alex loved you? This—" Leila waved her arm frantically in front of her—"wasn't the person she fell in love with. Is this what you are when she's gone? Shagging random girls every night?"

The gleam in Black's eye began to burn. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said lowly. "So shut your mouth, Parkinson, before I shut it for you."

"Fine," Leila said, holding up her hands in surrender. "Fine. Have it your way. But I'd be careful about where I pop my pills, if I were you. You have a reputation to uphold."

"Don't remind me," Black muttered, leaning against the wall in apparent nausea. Served him right.

"Parkinson?" Black said at the last minute. Leila turned back, annoyed.

"What?"

For a long while Leila thought Black wasn't going to say anything. "Have you heard anything from her?" His face was void of all emotion.

"No," she lied, feeling the envelope in the inner lining of her robes. "No, she hasn't written anything."

* * *

Lying on her back, Alex looked at the full moon and concentrated. A flicker of gold shimmered in front of her before disappearing feebly. Her hands sank to the ground, frustrated.

"You've been at that for a while now," Petrose remarked from somewhere in the darkness.

"Yeah," Alex said. "Dunno why. Hasn't worked so far, anyway."

"It's worked for you before?"

"You know what it is?"

Alex could hear Petrose shifting in his place. "It's a famous thing."

"Famous?"

"The Wymond family has been there as long as written records themselves. Some say that the reason why the first head of the family rose to prominence was due to a special ability… a golden shield. Capable of protecting anything and anyone."

"So everyone in my family had it, then?"

"No—not everyone."

"My grandmother?"

"Yes, she could produce it," he said quietly.

"I don't suppose she left a manual on how to use it," Alex said, rolling in her place to get more comfortable. "It came to me once before, but that was—purely self-defense, I think."

"She didn't say anything," Petrose answered, and Alex thought that was all he was going to say. She was almost asleep from tiredness when she heard him say something faintly like:

"But it was incandescent."

* * *

Spans of land stretched before them, gently rolling hills teasing their feet before subsiding into a flat terrain. Alex looked around, feeling refreshed for the first time in a while. The sun was set low in the sky, gently warming her skin. The wind blew slowly through her hair. When they arrived at the campsite it was evening, but the scenery was still beautiful.

"What would be the most basic defenses?" Petrose said, circling around the campsite.

"It's in the open field, so staying out of sight is impossible. Creating a fortress near the river—or, if possible, in the middle of it—would be the best. Controlling the waterway would be crucial."

"And when there aren't any rivers?"

Alex considered. "The hills," she decided. "The enemy would try to gain a vantage point by encamping on one of the hills. Either build on the highest hill there is, or-"

"Or?" Petrose said, raising his eyebrow. "What would be the or?"

"Build under that highest hill," Alex said. "Beneath the ground. They would never know what's coming."

"Underground fortresses have existed before," Petrose said. "They are usually effective, especially when the enemy does not know the exact location of the fortress. The tricky thing about them is that once surrounded, it is almost impossible to escape."

"What about underground tunnels that lead to other places?"

"Not bad, but not always cost effective, either," Petrose said.

"Then I suggest to everyone that we find a different location."

Petrose chuckled. "The highest hill will do for now," he said. "Tonight, we'll stay here."

Quickly, efficiently, the only way it is possible when it is out of habit, Alex set up a makeshift campsite with a fireplace and two blankets that would serve as beds. She took the cauldron to run to the nearest stream; when she came back, the sun had already set and Petrose had lit the fire. She set down the cauldron full of water, feeling her arms give way.

"Petrose?" Alex said after a cup of tea. Not much could be had, even with the items they had secured from the nearby village. Petrose grunted in response.

"The stars," Alex said. "It seems that it is already autumn."

It was a while before she received any recognition that Petrose heard her speculation. "So it seems," he answered. She hesitated, wondering what would be the best way to broach the subject.

"Today I woke up for the first time not thinking about my Mum or—or Black. It was odd, because most of the time I've been thinking about how everything was my fault, and that Mum might still be alive if it hadn't been for me, but—I had a feeling that Mum would be happy about it. That I didn't think about it instantly." Petrose didn't say anything, so she continued uncertainly.

"I know that I still have a lot to learn, but there's a war going on in England." The statement sounded ridiculous in the peaceful meadow with the heaven etched onto the sky, and Alex paused. "I've been away for—almost ten months? I can't stay outside of it forever."

Petrose still didn't say anything, and they stayed in silence for so long that Alex felt her resolve slipping from her grasp; it had been a long day, and she was tired.

"You wish to fight in the war?" Petrose asked suddenly. Alex paused.

"Yes," she said. "I wasn't sure, but—I am now. My mother gave up her life trying to create a better place, and I can't think of another way to honor her."

"By staying away," Petrose said. "Your mother wouldn't have objected to that."

"She stayed away because of me, because she wanted to keep me safe, so that I could grow up in peace." Alex stared glumly at the fire. "I don't think that's a possibility anymore, but maybe it still is for those who aren't born yet."

Petrose sighed. "It's a noble cause," he said. "But noble causes are also often meaningless. Your mother had you, specifically. She wanted to protect _you_. Don't throw away your life for some ungraspable thing just because you can't escape the cycle of violence."

Alex started. How did he know?

"I can't let it go," she whispered. "People responsible for her death. I just can't let them go."

"Revenge can't absolve you from guilt," Petrose said softly. "It'll only consume you faster."

"Either way I'm doomed, aren't I?" Alex laughed humorlessly. Petrose looked thoughtfully at her.

"Do you know why your grandfather fled to England?"

" _Fled_?"

"I told you that the legend of the Conservato was real. I haven't been completely forthcoming—it is real, still is. Its last headquarter was in Poland, where the Darkhiders had resided since the 12th century.

"In the deep forest," Petrose continued. "There lies a secret fortress, which every Darkhider can find. When Grindelwald attacked the ancient school, we evacuated the entire castle, beginning with the youngest and a few masters. It was nothing new—we have been under attack before, have lost our families before. But—Grindelwald was relentless. He saw us as the greatest threat to his power, and was determined to exterminate the entire community." Petrose chuckled dryly. "An ambitious plan, even for Grindelwald. But that does not mean we did not suffer casualties. Hundreds of Darkhiders, mostly elders trying to protect the young, were injured or killed. Captured and tortured for secrets. Safely our future was stored in the secret fortress…

"I was nineteen at the time.

"I was in the final year of my schooling—top of my class. Hardly an adult, but…" Here came the humorless chuckle. "I knew what I could do, what I was capable of. A Petrose, a young male at that, destined to continue the great legacy the family name entailed. When Grindelwald came, I was ready to fight. I told my teachers so—that I wanted to protect the castle with the rest of them. Instead, they told me to go to England with a family. A family that every Darkhider knew of, looked up to—the Wymonds.

The Wymonds first came to prominence when Scorpio was confronted with a decision thousands of years ago—to take a side in a battle that they did not wish to continue. The faction was divided; some wanted to fight with the Libra, others with Gemini. The head of the Wymond family at the time—we don't know much of her except that her name was Zorza—saw this division as the biggest danger to their collective safety and built a secret castle where the members of the Scorpio could safely live until both sides saw the foolishness of the endeavor and stopped fighting. Its name was Elsinore.

In secrecy, the Scorpio tried to build a safe community in which every member could live in peace. But as I have already said, there were those who wanted to join the war effort. This faction was led by a Petrose—we know him as Lech. He attempted to revolt against Zorza's authority. Well, I'll say one thing—the Petrose have a certain… proclivity for making impossible bets and direly suffering the consequences. In any case, they lost. Lech was ready to meet his death by execution, but Zorza needed all the support she could get, and Lech was one of the best soldiers in the world. She made him the commander-in-chief instead, and, in exchange for saving his life, he was to promise her unconditional loyalty. Thus began a unique relationship between the Wymond and Petrose families.

We both know how the war between the Libra and Gemini went. They were ready to fight each other to death. Zorza was too old by this time to do anything about this, so she conferred her leadership to her daughter Danica, who, with Lech—he had been quite young when he first led the rebellion, and was then a middle-aged soldier—cast a Confundus charm upon the battlefield."

"What?" Alex said, disbelieving.

"The Wymonds have a special power—a power that led to their ascension in the first place, I suppose. We don't know where it comes from; I once heard Polaris—your grandmother, now—say that it is just another specialized form of magic. Probably, but it's a form that is passed down through generations, which does not often happen with magical powers. You know what it is." Here Petrose opened his eyes and stared straight ahead into the night sky.

"My shield," Alex said, almost reluctantly. Petrose nodded and closed his eyes again.

"A shield so impermeable, that it can contain both physical space and magical spells—so strong, that even the sharpest knife can't cut through it. Wymond's golden shield. You can imagine the value the Darkhiders see in it. A band of members from Scorpio secretly snuck to the battlefield at night when everyone was sleeping, and cast a massive Confundus charm contained by the shield on everyone there. The next morning all of them woke up and went their own merry ways—or so the story goes. That is why there are witches and wizards across the world.

When Grindelwald attacked, the head of the Wymond house was a young woman—your grandmother. She had recently married an older soldier whom her parents had favored when they were still alive. She wanted to stay in Elsinore and fight alongside her family and friends, but the masters rejected the idea. The Wymond line had to continue. But instead of going with others to the secret fortress, Polaris decided to contact one man in Europe who seemed intent on standing against Grindelwald—Albus Dumbledore.

You know him better than I do, and although I'm not certain as to his abilities as a soldier, he managed to keep the young couple safe. I accompanied them on their travel from Elsinore to England, because I was the youngest in the Petrose line, because I was obligated to serve the newest Wymond heir, and because, I think, deep down, the masters knew that I wasn't ready and couldn't afford to lose me. Soon after, Polaris had her first and only child—Altair Wymond. I looked after his training until he went to Hogwarts.

I suppose I should tell you that the Wymond line is primarily matriarchal. I'm not sure how it started, but I think they've just had more daughters than sons and there was the example of Zorza giving the command to her daughter. There were certainly male heirs to the line. Altair Wymond, for example. But it didn't happen often. The Petrose family, on the other hand, is patriarchal. From Lech to my father, who was the only son between my parents. I was expected to become the next head should my father die."

"But you didn't," Alex blurted out, instantly regretting it.

Petrose raised his eyebrows. "Why would you think you that?"

"You wouldn't be here if you were."

"You're the direct heir of the Wymond line," Petrose said, scoffing. "The head of the Petrose family would never hesitate to serve as your instructor. But no, I'm not. The space has been empty for some years. I have a sister, quite younger than myself. She had a son. My nephew will fill in the position once he becomes ready."

"You don't want to lead the family?" Alex asked.

Petrose paused. "I would not be accepted in any case," he said after a while.

"Why not? You're the legitimate heir, aren't you?" To this Petrose didn't answer.

"The boy," He said suddenly. "I haven't seen him in a while, but from what I can tell, he's quite intelligent. Which is a relief. Intelligence is not a trait that is often observed in the Petrose family." Petrose chuckled. "No, strategy is best left to the Wymonds—the Petrose are stronger, better fighters, better supporters. He should be twenty now, I think. I hope you meet him someday."

"Petrose," Alex said. "What happened to my grandparents? After they came here, I mean. The war against Grindelwald ended, but they didn't go back?"

Petrose again remained silent for a long while. "They died. They've been dead for some time," he said simply.

"But why?"

Petrose again seemed reluctant to talk. "An outsider provoked the family. Your grandfather wished to duel him—such was the custom. Still is, in the wizarding society, but among Darkhiders a duel is rarer, mostly because almost everyone knows how to fight so well that fighting for the sake of fighting loses its significance after a while. The duel was scheduled to happen. Your grandmother didn't wish for the duel to happen. She tried to stop them, but was—killed in the process. Your grandfather died soon after. I suppose, after his wife died, there was little point." Petrose immediately stopped, and Alex watched him, his face no longer serene, but still unfathomable under the night sky.

"Altair never got over the incident. Which isn't surprising, of course, he was barely fourteen, but..." Petrose rubbed his eyes. "I wonder.

"What I wanted to say was this: in the history of the Darkhiders and Conservato, there was more than enough occasion for us to go out and avenge the loss of our loved ones. But we didn't. We kept on hiding and survived. And maybe that is not the best policy for every single occasion, and certainly there were people every time who said that we ought to fight for the ones we love. But we must let go of those who can't come back—from the dead must continue the living. That is the cycle of life."

"I want nothing more than to live in peace," Alex said hoaresly. "But I have no one to share that peace with. It seems as though I have nothing to live for now—and I shouldn't say that, because you have been so kind to me. Even if I went back to Hogwarts now, and took my N.E.W.T.s, and got a regular job wanting an ordinary life—yeah, I would like that, more than anything, but I don't think that's possible for me anymore." Petrose sighed.

"Maybe that is the curse of all soldiers," he muttered, looking glumly at the stars. "At some point, they lose the sense of reality."

Alex smiled wryly. "I'm far too clumsy to be called a Darkhider, don't you think?" Petrose, on the other hand, didn't seem amused by this.

"You're not the best soldier," he said sternly. "But being a member of the Conservato isn't about receiving the Darkhider mark, or being a soldier—which was a necessary evil to begin with. No, being a Darkhider means to protect and defend what is best in our society. The young and their innocence and potential. The old and their wisdom. Everyone in between, who become the drive of the community. And it means being able to see the value in all the lives you encounter."

"But you've been teaching me how to fight, and climb cliffs, and—"

"I've also had you keep up with the standard curriculum at Hogwarts, because all the knowledge is useful." Petrose smiled sadly at her. "We live in dangerous times, and you need to know how to remain strong. I also—selfishly wanted you to see the world of the Conservato. The ancient route. We may never gain entrance to Elsinore, but this is something that you could do."

"Oh," Alex said.

"If you want to join the war effort—"

"You don't approve."

"I know your grandmother would be proud of you. And I will stand by you, as I stood by her decisions."

"You don't have to," Alex said softly. "You've already done more than enough for me."

"If you don't remember: you still have a long way to go." Alex laughed.

"Right," she said. She grew somber.

"Onward, then," she said. "Back to England it is."


End file.
